Fallout
by Moon Disc
Summary: Mallory was a legend. His followers want him back. When they ask the Liberator for assistance in a prisoner exchange, no one could have predicted the events that would follow. Just how far will Blake go to protect his crew as the situation spirals out of control?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Blake ran down the corridor, taking the steps down to the flight deck two at a time, Vila at his heels. The _Liberator_ should have been moving, speed Standard by Ten, getting out of the area before the anticipated hostiles arrived. Instead it was stilled, drifting in the galactic equivalent of the doldrums.

"Jenna, what's happening?"

At the main pilot's station, she shook her head, her expression mirroring her confusion.

"I don't understand. Zen's not responding. Negative response on all controls. The secondaries are out too."

"Switch to manual," Blake suggested.

"I've tried," Jenna replied. "Nothing. The controls are dead."

"Zen!" Blake called out.

Lights moved across the bronzed surface, more erratically than usual, Blake noticed. A single light stalled, blinked rapidly, and then the sequence resumed. Zen was working, but unable or unwilling to respond.

"Orac, what's wrong with Zen?" he demanded.

"Blake," Vila said, a worried note in his voice.

"Not now. Orac!"

"What do you want now?" came the testy reply.

"What's happening?"

"Blake!" said Vila again.

Blake ignored him. "Well, Orac?"

Orac made a noise that sounded like the electronic sigh of impatience. "That should be obvious even to a species of your limited intelligence."

"An outside influence." He did not have far to look to find the cause. On the scanner, a small shuttle moving away from the Liberator on coordinates three three eight. "Orac, intercept their signal and block it."

"There is no signal to block," said Orac. "The programme is now embedded in the system."

"Then analyse it and resolve the problem."

"I cannot. To do so would invite my own destruction. That runs counter to my programming. I suggest you find your own solution."

"Blake!" yelled Vila.

"What?" he snapped.

"Long-range detectors are registering six pursuit ships in close formation." Vila's voice fell at the end. "It looks like... well, there's a cruiser following them. Blake, what are we going to do?"

It took a heartbeat for him to reach a decision. "Cally," he said into the communicator, "we need Avon up here now. Can he make it?"

It was Avon who replied. "I'm here. What's wrong? Why aren't we moving?"

Blake caught the slight edge in his voice. "Zen is not responding, and Orac is refusing to help."

"The pursuit ships!" said Vila. "Tell him about the pursuit ships."

"Pursuit ships?" Avon queried.

"At the limit of detector range."

"We're on our way," came Cally's voice from the communicator.

"As quick as you can," said Blake.

"Until then, we're dead in the water," said Jenna, sitting back from the controls.

"Or just dead," said Vila miserably. "I knew this was going to be a bad day."

Watching lights stutter and struggle across Zen's screen, Blake could not disagree. The question now was how it was going to end.

_To find out how this situation came about, on to Chapter One!_


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

"Move."

Vila gave Avon a grudging look and reluctantly shifted his legs from the chair. Too slow, Avon helped him along by pushing his feet onto the floor.

"All right," Vila grumbled, as his drink slopped from his glass onto his lap. "What's the rush?"

Avon made a point of ignoring him, instead concentrating on some minor fault with the detector shield.

Not had Vila had been expecting a reply. The consensus aboard the _Liberator_ was that there was definitely something wrong with Avon. It did not make for the easiest of atmospheres.

Like living with a black cloud, as Vila had mentioned to anyone who had time to listen, forever waiting for a thunderstorm to erupt. The only surprise was that it never came. Instead, Avon had effectively removed himself from contact with the rest of the crew and had buried himself in the heart of the _Liberator's_ deepest workings. When he did appear, conversation was kept to a minimum. Any attempt to question him was met with a curt remark or biting comment, which made leaving him alone the preferred option.

Which suited Vila – or so he had thought at first. Several days spared Avon's usual hostility had seemed like a cause for celebration. Then he had found himself starting to miss it. Avon's sarcasm he could handle. Avon's silence he could not.

Now, with Avon putting in one of his rare appearances on the flight deck, Vila let his natural curiosity get the better of him. That, and the several glasses he had already downed, made him smile indulgently and idly wave his half-empty glass in Avon's general direction. Vila noted the contempt that registered in his reluctant companion's dark eyes. It was strangely reassuring that their relationship, or what there was of it, had not changed.

"Now, if I had to guess," Vila went on, "you look like a man with a problem."

On reflection, it could have been a happier choice of words. Avon looked up sharply from the console's array of blinking lights and fixed him with a stare that would have made a more sober man concerned for his well being.

"A drink problem, I mean," Vila went on quickly. "You haven't got one."

Avon turned back to what he was doing. "Nor do I need one," he said.

"Course you do," Vila slurred into his glass. "Everyone does. Here, Avon, have a drink. Put your feet up, let your hair down, like a normal person."

"And what would you know about the behaviour of 'normal' people?"

"Only what I've read." Vila grinned up at him. "Anyway, what's wrong with me? I'm as good as the next man."

As it happened, the next man happened to be Blake. Avon caught the sound of footsteps before Vila, and what should have been a rapid exit was stymied when Jenna and Blake appeared, effectively blocking his escape route. If either had been surprised to find him on the flight deck, liberated from his self-imposed exile, they did a good job at concealing it.

Blake gave Avon nothing more than a cursory glance and stepped round him without comment. Only when Avon started up the steps did he address him.

"Now you are here, I'd prefer you stay," Blake said. "I need to discuss the arrangements for Mallory. His men will be here in thirty minutes."

Avon continued on his way without a backward glance. "You don't need me for that."

"All the same," Blake said, louder, more insistent this time. "This concerns everyone on the ship."

"Run your rebellion your own way, Blake. I'm busy."

A sidestep to avoid Cally coming in the other direction and Avon was gone. Vila caught himself breathing a sigh of relief that another storm had passed without incident.

"Can't you do something about him, Blake?" he muttered. "He's making me nervous. I keep waiting for the _Liberator_ to explode with all his tinkering."

"Does anyone know what he's doing?" asked Jenna. "He's been down there for days."

"I reckon he's got one of his lady-friends keeping him company." Vila glanced up and saw Jenna's unimpressed expression. "Or a computer," he added hurriedly. "He's probably building a replica of himself so he's got someone to keep telling him how wonderful he is."

"Now that I _can_ believe," said Jenna.

"It's more than that," said Cally. "He's worried about something. A decision to make, I think."

"Avon told you?"

Cally shook her head. "No," she said hesitantly. "It's the impression I get from him. He's trying to distract himself. You hadn't noticed?"

"I hadn't really given it any thought," said Jenna dismissively. "Now, what about Mallory?"

"We're on course to meet the shuttle as planned," said Blake. "They have requested to bring it into the hold. That way, after they make the exchange, we can take them back to their base on Hagona. They don't have the range to make the return journey on their own. Can you handle it, Jenna?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I know what I'm doing. Do they?"

"That was my concern. I wanted Avon to stand by, in case they run into difficulties. I'd better go and find him."

"Rather you than me," said Jenna, settling herself at the main pilot's station. "Worried or not, Avon isn't exactly the best company at the moment."

"I can get him back up here," Vila offered.

"I doubt he will respond to you, Vila."

"I don't mean the communicator." Vila put down his glass and pulled down the hatch on the side of the detector shield unit. He reached in and pulled a wire free. A light began to blink on the main array. "Works every time."

"Vila!" Blake said with alarm. "We're meant to be avoiding detection, not inviting it."

"But it's only a secondary system," Vila said. "You'll see. Whenever his precious gadget develops a fault, Avon comes running."

"Better not let him catch you doing that," said Jenna.

He grinned back at her. "I won't tell if you don't."

Vila reached for his glass, only for Blake to move it to the other side of the table, out of his reach.

"I need you to stay alert, Vila. Mallory's people have a reputation."

"So do we. Who is he anyway?"

"They call him the 'Hammer of Hagona'," Blake explained, sitting down opposite him. "The planet is rich in carbon-based minerals, diamonds especially. Profit for a few at the expense of the miners. Poor working conditions, little reward, deaths that went unreported – that was until Mallory led the miners in open revolt. Since then, he's led uprisings on a dozen worlds in Sector Five."

"At considerable cost," Jenna remarked. "Mallory is ruthless, Blake. He's the reason the old smuggling routes broke down in that sector. He thought nothing of robbing any ship that came close and killing the crews."

Blake acknowledged her point with a nod. "I'm not saying I'm comfortable with his methods. There's been talk of torture and summary executions of anyone even suspected of treachery. He doesn't usually take prisoners."

"Except for now," said Cally.

"The situation is different," Blake said. "Mallory was captured by the Federation some time ago. His people want him back."

"Nice of them," said Vila.

"It's more than that. He has something of a cult-like status amongst his followers. Their devotion borders on the fanatical."

"Not much chance of that around here," said Jenna in good humour.

Blake caught her eye and returned the smile. "I'll take what I can get. Speaking of which, where is Avon? Your plan doesn't seem to be working, Vila."

"I'm expecting him any moment now," Vila replied. "In fact, in 3... 2... 1." He nodded to the stairs. "See, told you so."

Right on cue, Avon appeared from the direction of the corridor. Without a word, he strode straight to the detector shield unit and stared down at the single blinking light, betraying the fault within. Then, pulling down the hatch, he delved inside. A moment later, the light was stilled.

He was up on his feet and turning to leave, but Blake had beaten him to it.

"Now you're here, you can stay," said he, standing in Avon's way.

"I can," Avon returned coldly, "but I won't."

Blake put his hand out, close enough to bring Avon up short without touching him. "Are you still a member of this crew? We don't have room for passengers."

"Strange," Avon shot back. "I thought that's exactly what we were doing with Mallory's thugs."

"I'm not asking you to take part in this if you have objections, but you need to hear the arrangements. Now stay. I won't ask again."

Not a request, more of a statement. Stalemate, with neither side prepared to back down. The longer it went on, Vila caught himself wincing as the tension grew on the flight deck. Glancing across at Cally, he saw the same uncertainty in her eyes. He was used to Blake and Avon pawing the ground on regular occasions, but this felt different, as though something was about to happen they would all regret.

"All right," said Avon finally. "But I'm telling you, I don't like it."

"Noted."

Vila hurriedly shifted out of the way as Avon grudgingly took a seat on the couch beside him. Close enough for surreptitious observation, Vila glanced at him, wondering why he had not put up more resistance, given his recent behaviour. Either he really was preoccupied about something or he was losing his edge. Space fatigue, he eventually decided. It got to everybody in the end.

"When they arrive," Blake continued, "they will have a prisoner with them, a Councillor Juhel Aphon from the ruling body of Ysoria."

"Ysoria?" said Vila. "Isn't that a Federation stronghold for retired officials? It's a paradise, so I've heard. Golden beaches, warm temperatures, blue skies all day – the sort of place we never get to visit. What have they got to revolt about?"

"Not the residents, Vila, the workforce keeping this paradise pristine," Blake explained. "They had cause for complaint. They were treated little better than slaves. Mallory's second-in-command led the uprising. Unlike his fellow councillors, Aphon didn't leave the planet in time before the rebels took control."

"And now they want to swap him for Mallory," said Cally. "He must be important."

"Or Mallory no longer poses a threat, whatever is left of him," said Avon. "He has been a prisoner of the Federation for some time. They would not wasted any opportunity to interrogate him. Thoroughly. What else they may have done to him, I shall leave to your imagination."

"You've got an opinion now, have you?" said Vila. "I thought you weren't interested."

"You mistake interest for an observation," Avon replied. "The Federation could be gambling that an incapacitated or compromised Mallory would end the rebellions in the Fifth Sector. Without an effective leader, resistance will crumble."

Blake nodded. "But sometimes a figurehead is enough."

Avon stared at him, a faint light of amusement in his eyes. "That's probably what they said about us."

"I'm not forming an alliance with them," Blake shot back. "Helping them works in our favour. Whilst Mallory keeps the Federation occupied in Sector Five, the rest of the Federated worlds stand a chance at breaking free."

"A marriage of convenience then," said Avon. "Make it a short one."

"Blake, shuttle approaching," said Jenna.

Vila turned to look at the image of a small spacecraft of antiquated design that Zen had brought up on the main viewscreen. A flickering red glow from a nearby nebula lit its scarred and pitted sides. Several of the running lights were out and the rear engines were leeching an iridescent trail of vapour.

"They don't look all that threatening to me," said Vila.

"Famous last words of the gullible and deluded," Avon remarked.

"There's only so far I'm prepared to go," Blake said. "They can stay in the hold until we reach the rendezvous point for the exchange. There's no reason for them to have access to the rest of the ship."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," said Jenna. "The less they know about the _Liberator_, the better."

Blake started for the steps. "Jenna, signal them and commence docking procedure. Avon, assist her if necessary. Cally, Vila, you're with me."

"Am I?" said Vila miserably.

"Yes, I want a show of force for our guests. Come on, Vila."

"Depressing to think that he's the best we've got," said Avon as Vila headed after the departing pair. "Let's hope they are easily impressed."

"Knowing Mallory, I doubt it," Jenna replied. "All right, Zen, lock the inner hatches, positive pressure. If they're coming, let's get them on board."

_What could possibly go wrong? Well... onwards to Chapter Two!_


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Docking complete. I've transferred them to Inner Hold One. Be careful."

"Understood, Jenna. Keep the hold on visual. Just in case." Blake took his thumb from the communicator and turned to Vila and Cally. "Well, let's go and welcome our guests."

Vila grimaced. "I hope they feel the same way about us."

Typical Vila, Blake thought. Perpetual pessimism may have served him well in the past, but it was no way to live. Having to listen to it on a regular basis was wearing in an insidious sort of way, in some respects worse than having to do daily battle against Avon's hostility. It chipped away at his core, until Blake had found himself questioning what he knew to be right. Helping Mallory _was_ the right thing to do, even if the man and his methods was objectionable. He would have to square it with his conscience later.

The door slid back and, taking a deep, steadying breath, Blake led the way into the hold. Up close, the shuttle was larger than it had first appeared on the screen, capable of accommodating more than a skeleton crew. Blake realised they had underestimated its condition too: panels buckled by the impact of debris, a landing strut leeching fluid and a ramp that needed additional physical force from those inside to make it open. That it had limped this far across the Sector was nothing short of a miracle.

With the ramp down, landing with a thud that shook the floor and echoed around the confined space, several figures emerged. First out was a rangy hard-bitten man, bearded, his brows set in a permanent frown. Behind him, a thin woman, her blond hair pulled up in a severe top-knot, and a suspicious look in her eyes. Three more men followed, scarred, ill-kempt and lean to the point of malnourishment. All wore the same drab uniform: sturdy, stained clothes, threadbare in places, in shades of greys and browns; heavy boots much marked and patched, and all with an array of weapons strapped to their backs and around their waists.

"They're a scruffy lot," Vila whispered. "I wish I'd brought a gun now. I feel underdressed."

"Quiet, Vila," said Cally. "Not everyone is fortunate to have a ship as well supplied as the _Liberator_."

Blake was only half listening to their conversation. His attention was drawn to the leader of this bedraggled group, who had stopped, fixed Blake with an arrogant stare and then muttered something to his companions that made them laugh. Only then did he stride down the ramp and march over.

"You must be Blake," said he, looking him up and down. "I'm Milo, Mallory's second-in-command." He nodded to Vila and Cally. "These your people?"

Blake introduced them. He was aware of Vila drawing behind him, trying to keep out of sight.

"I thought you had more followers," said Milo critically. "A ship like this needs more than you three to operate it."

The implied criticism did not escape him. "Jenna and Avon are on the flight deck. They guided you in."

"And a mess they made of it." He barked a laugh. "You'd think we had never landed this thing before. We might not have a ship like this, but my pilot could match yours any day. Isn't that right, Avice?" He gestured to the woman, who nodded. "These three here are Adri, Drugo and Edun." They grunted a greeting in turn. "And then there's Sten. Here, Sten, come and join us."

A huge man, as broad as he was tall, his shabby clothes barely containing his bulk, emerged from the shuttle. Before him, he pushed a stately, grey-haired man, his hands bound in front of him and dressed in the white robes of a member of the Council of Ysoria. Only when they drew near did Blake notice the rudimentary short spear with jagged head being used to prod the prisoner in the back to make him advance.

That they had come this far against the Federation with prehistoric weaponry was a testament to their determination. Blake had to admit to a grudging admiration.

Sten came to a halt and stared down at them from a great height, silent and unsmiling.

"He's a big one," said Vila nervously. "What have you been feeding him?"

"You won't get much out of him," said Milo. "He spoke back to the mine-master on Hagona. They cut out his tongue as punishment. He wasn't considered important enough for a voice synthesiser. But he lets us know what he wants. Isn't that right, Sten?"

The big man nodded. Turning his hands inwards so the nails were touching, he pointed his fingers down, making what looked like the letter 'M'.

"That's right," said Milo. "It's Mallory you want, what we all want. Mallory forever!"

"Mallory forever!" the others chorused, punching their fists in the air.

"And this is the fellow who's going to get him back for us." Milo pushed the prisoner in the back. "Councillor Aphon, this is Blake."

To the man's credit, his time in captivity had not dulled his spirit. The clothes may have been frayed and creased from travel, but the patrician air remained, in the proud carriage of his head and the look of disdain he reserved for anyone he considered his inferior. A handsome man, with refined features and an almost regal way of moving, Blake could not shake the impression he had seen him somewhere before.

"You will refrain from touching me," Aphon retorted, reserving his coldest glare for Milo. "And you." He turned to Blake, his expression one usually reserved for inspecting unsavoury stains found on the sole of the shoe. "I have heard about your exploits. You are a traitor to the system that gave you birth."

Blake caught himself smiling at the man's arrogance. He had heard worse. It was not even original. The insults never varied, only the people making them. "I'd have to disagree with you there, Councillor."

"Yes, I'm sure you would. Ingrates like you find any excuse to justify your activities against the greatest force for good that the galaxy has ever seen."

_Force for good_. The sincerity in Aphon's voice was staggering. Did these people really not see it, Blake reflected, or was it convenient to turn a blind eye, whilst they sat on Ysoria, pampered and isolated from the realities of the system they extolled?

"He's a charmer, isn't he?" said Milo. "You can see why we're eager to be rid of him. We'd have hanged him from the highest tree in Ysoria if he hadn't had value to us."

"Savages," muttered Aphon.

"Give us time, Councillor, and we'll show you just how savage we can be."

The group laughed uproariously at this.

Blake glanced at Cally. She gave a small shake of her head. _It's bravado_, he heard her voice echo in his mind. _They dare not harm him._

"I understand the exchange is to take place on Saunsum," said Blake. The planet, chosen for its neutrality, was on the borders of Federation territory, accessible to both parties without compromising security. "The journey time is thirty-two hours, so we should be there in plenty of time."

"In a ship like this, I'm sure we will," said Milo, turning his head to take in his surroundings. "She's impressive, Blake, nothing to match her. If Mallory had this ship, the Federation would have been broken in days."

"The Federation is not intimidated by you or your alien vessel," remarked Aphon.

"Who's asking you?" Milo shot back. He squared up to Blake, his chin stuck out in defiance. "Come on, Blake. What's holding you back? Not man enough to stand up to them?"

Blake heard Vila catch his breath. He decided not to rise to the challenge. It would have been a petty victory over a man trying to justify his cause in the face of superior technology. In Milo's place, he might have thought the same thing.

"If it were that easy, the Federation would have fallen years ago," Blake replied. "Too many people with a vested interest in maintaining the established order. People like him." He nodded to Aphon. "That is what we're up against."

Milo sneered. "You, maybe. Mallory speaks for the poor and forgotten. He was born in the mines, forged from steel, and like a hammer he will fall on the Federation and break them."

"Then best we get him back."

Blake had kept his voice level and calm. Milo snorted and backed away, evidently frustrated that he had not succeeded in provoking a reaction. It was enough. Lines had been drawn and both sides knew where they stood. Mutual dislike set aside in the face of a common foe.

"Now, is there anything you need while you are here?" asked Blake. Given Milo's pride, he expected to be rebuffed. It had be offered, however.

"We will remain in here," Milo declared. "We don't want to be contaminated by your 'soft' ways. We have food, a floor to sleep on, and anything else we need is on the shuttle."

"The shuttle needs repairs, Milo," said Avice, shooting worried glances at her leader, nervous for daring to speak out. "If you have parts to spare, Blake, it would be appreciated."

"I'm sure we'll be able to help in that respect."

"You can help with the prisoner too," said Milo. "The Federation wants him delivered in good shape. He has 'requirements', don't you, Councillor?"

"I require a room commensurate with my standing," said Aphon. "These criminals will only get their leader back if the Federation is satisfied that my treatment has been adequate."

"You'd better hope they are satisfied," growled Milo, bringing his clenched fist near Aphon's chin. "If Mallory dies, so do you."

"Uncouth barbarians," Aphon retorted. "Your threats are meaningless to me."

"I think we can manage that," said Blake. He heard Vila starting to make noises of protest. "Councillor Aphon won't have any cause to complain about his treatment whilst aboard the _Liberator_."

"Blake!" Vila hissed, tugging on his sleeve. "I thought we said we weren't going to let them wander around the ship."

"One person, Vila, and he's a prisoner, we can lock him in," said Blake, lowering his voice. Then, turning back to Aphon: "This way, Councillor, we'll show you to your room."

"Sten, go with them," said Milo.

"That won't be necessary," said Blake.

"Really?" Milo's mouth curled into a sneer. "You'll forgive me if I have my doubts. We have more to lose. Sten will see that the Councillor behaves. Then he is to come straight back here. I'm sure you don't want him around, dirtying your pretty ship. Understand, Sten?"

Sten nodded.

"Very well," said Blake. "Follow us."

Outside in the corridor, Blake paused before the silent giant joined them. "Vila, see that the councillor is settled in. Get him whatever he wants, _within reason_. We have to keep him happy."

"Do we?" muttered Vila. "He's not a very likeable person, you know."

"As long as they get Mallory back," said Cally.

"Where you are going?"

"The flight deck," said Blake. "I want to make sure our guests keep their word about staying in the hold. Cally, see if you can find the spares they need for their shuttle. Get Avon to help. I don't want the repairs to delay their departure."

"Oh, so you don't trust them either," said Vila. "Glad it's not just me." He turned just in time as Sten came up behind him, swallowing hard when his face only came level with the man's chest. Slowly raising his eyes, he finally came to Sten's head. "Come on, then," he muttered, gesturing for him to follow. "Why do I always get these jobs?"

"Is this the best you can do?"

Councillor Aphon looked around the spartan room, a look of distaste etched on his features. Vila glanced up at Sten and rolled his eyes. He had often thought that discontent was probably something the Alpha grades were taught in the cradle. Considering some of the places he had slept in the past, the _Liberator's_ rooms were luxury.

"They're all the same," said Vila. "The people who built the _Liberator_ didn't go in for a lot of decoration."

"Then it will have to do," said Aphon. "Now, release me."

He held out his bound hands. Vila hesitated, and glanced up at his silent companion.

"May I remind you," Aphon said imperiously, "it is a condition of the exchange—"

"Yes, yes, we know," grumbled Vila. "Well, it can't hurt, Sten. We will lock the door. There's nowhere he can go."

After giving it thought, Sten nodded. Vila stepped forward and started to unknot the rope. Finally free, the councillor rubbed his chaffed wrists and turned his attention to Vila, appraising him with a critical eye.

"Tell me, what is your name?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him to mind his own business. Not wanting another lecture about the 'conditions of the exchange', he relented.

"Vila."

"Ah, a Delta name. I thought it would be. What are your origins?"

Vila fancied he could feel the weight of the councillor's stare and tried not to look him in the eye. "Earth."

"And your position on this ship? You serve the needs of the crew, surely?"

There it was, thought Vila, the old assumption that a Delta could expect nothing more than a menial position. It never failed to rankle. Go where you would in the Twelve Sectors, there were always people who never let you forget your beginnings. Men like Councillor Aphon. They were usually the ones Vila most liked to relieve of their valuables.

"I'm no servant, I _am_ a member of the crew," Vila retorted. "We all do our own work around here."

Aphon's eyes narrowed in surprise. "How very egalitarian. And yet Blake has you running errands and waiting upon me." He sniffed thoughtfully. "Still, the ways of the past are hard to break. One supposes it is convenient for him to pay lip service to an ideal, whilst subverting it in private. Yes, I can see how that would work to his advantage on a ship like this."

Vila opened his mouth. What he wanted to say caught in his throat. Being confronted with the old prejudices of the higher grades was sending him back to places he thought he had left behind. There was a time he would not have given Aphon's snide remarks another thought. Yet now it stung like a whiplash, more than Avon's taunts, gentle by comparison, more than being allotted the role of errand boy for pompous fools like these.

Soft, Milo had called them. Yes, he supposed that was true now. Words had never hurt as much as this in the past. Even Sten was looking at him with something approaching pity.

"I'm not a servant," he repeated. Why bother, he thought. Who did he need to convince? Or was he only deceiving himself?

"Be that as it may," said Aphon, "now you are here, I shall expect you to perform certain duties. I require food and a decent vintage. Before that, I need to freshen up. Clean clothes would be desirable. Have them brought up to me immediately."

"I'll do the best I can," Vila muttered.

"As must we all." Aphon smiled indulgently. "There's another task I shall need you to do for me, something of a personal nature."

Vila was wary. "Oh, yes?"

"Take me to your flight deck. I need a direct link to the High Council."

"Well, I don't know about that," Vila said uncertainly.

"You mean you don't have the authority? Yes, I thought that might be the case." He continued before Vila could protest. "Then you must persuade them, Vila. I wish to assure my associates on the High Council of my identity and survival to ensure the exchange goes smoothly. Any delay would be intolerable, as I am eager to return to my home. Now, do you think you can manage that?"

_Contacting the High Council – doesn't sound like a good idea. Don't do it, Vila!_


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The flight deck was empty when Vila entered. He looked around, expecting someone to suddenly appear from behind a console and demand to know what he was doing. It took a moment to register that he was alone, save for Zen, looming above all in quiet contemplation, and Orac, going about his business with his usual cluster of hums and whines.

Well, if there was no one to ask, he would have to use his own initiative. Councillor Aphon wanted to speak to the High Council. Blake had told him to keep the man happy. He had said something about 'within reason', but if speaking to them was a condition of Mallory's return, then speak to them he would.

Orac would know how to make contact with them, Vila decided. It was easier to take him to the Councillor rather than let him have access to the flight deck. He could contact the High Council and have Orac back before anyone missed him. So much for needing permission.

Feeling bolder by the moment, Vila picked up Orac. A protest came from the computer's inner depths. Vila silenced him by removing the key and stowing it in his pocket. He had almost made it out when voices from the other direction made him stop dead in his tracks.

"We do not have 'spare' parts, Blake," Vila heard Avon saying. "Or did you forget about the auto-repair circuits? What are we supposed to give them?"

"We must have something lying around they can use," Blake said, as the pair of them appeared at the head of the steps. "Just give them whatever we've got."

"A new shuttle perhaps," Avon retorted to Blake's departing back as the chime of the communicator called him away. His gaze switched to Vila. "What are you doing with Orac? I thought you were supposed to be keeping the prisoner happy."

"I was, I am," Vila spluttered.

"If you have nothing better to do, you can put Orac down and help me. I have to find 'spare' parts, whatever they are."

Vila hesitated. "I can't. It's the Councillor. He wants..." His confidence withered under the severity of Avon's glare. "I'm running an errand for him."

It was little enough, but it piqued Avon's interest. Vila saw the suspicious look that came into his eyes.

"An errand that involves Orac? Now, what could that be?"

He reached out to take Orac. Vila backed away.

"I don't have to answer to you," Vila protested. "I'm as much entitled to use Orac as anyone."

"What's this?" said Blake, looking up from the main pilot's console.

"The Councillor," said Vila. "He wants to speak to his friends on the High Council."

"Does he? Did he say what about?"

Vila shrugged. "He wants to tell them he's all right."

"They already know that," said Avon. "Ignore him, Vila. You have better things to do than organise the councillor's social diary. Now, come on."

"Wait a minute," said Blake thoughtfully as he came down to join them. "Friends on the High Council. Perhaps you're wrong about their reasons for the exchange, Avon. This Aphon appears to carry some weight, after all. What do we know about him?"

Vila put Orac down on the table and replaced the key in its slot.

"When you have quite finished," Orac piped up, "you are interrupting―"

"Yes, we know," said Blake. "I want you to access Councillor Aphon's security file."

"Isn't it too late for that?" said Avon. "The man is already aboard."

"That was before he asked to speak to the Terran High Council. Well, Orac?"

The computer made a noise that sounded like an exasperated sigh. "Very well. Councillor Juhel Aphon was appointed to the ruling body of Ysoria several years ago. He is considered one of their senior members."

"Before that," said Blake.

"I am unable to access that information without the appropriate data recall code."

"Data recall code? Well, that shouldn't be a problem for you, Orac."

"It is not Federation in origin."

"Then who―?" Blake straightened up, realisation coming as his gaze finally fell upon Avon, who had removed himself some distance away. "Avon?"

He did not look up at the mention of his name. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know why you have locked the information about Councillor Aphon. Clearly, you've accessed the man's file."

Avon finally condescended to meet Blake's accusing stare. "I like to know the background of our passengers. Milo, for example. Did you know that he incited Mallory's followers to overthrow the _de facto_ government of Arandigar, after they had usurped the previous military junta? Rebel turning on rebel – it's an interesting notion."

"I'm not talking about Milo," said Blake, approaching the flight console where Avon had taken refuge. "I want the data recall code."

"Aphon is dangerous," said Avon. His avoidance of the direct question did not go unnoticed. "On no account should he be allowed access to Orac."

"Oh, you'll have to do better than that." Blake was standing close enough so that Avon could not ignore him. "The code, Avon."

From where Vila was standing, obtaining a simple answer seemed to take the longest time, but finally Avon relented. "Orac, Avon Alpha One."

"Yes, it would be," muttered Vila.

"Happy now?" Avon said to Blake.

"I'll let you know." Blake returned to the table and directed his question to the computer. "Orac, tell us more about this Councillor Aphon."

"Sections of the file have been redacted by Federation security channels. That information is now impossible to retrieve. I can tell you, however, that he assumed the name 'Aphon' only recently before his retirement to Ysoria."

"He changed his name?" said Vila. "Why would he do that? He sounds dodgy to me, Blake."

"There is another name linked to Aphon's file," Orac continued authoritatively. "He has a younger brother. A first name is given."

Blake shrugged. "Well, I don't see how that will help, but tell us anyway."

"Kerr."

Vila was a fraction behind Blake as he whipped round to face Avon. What could have been nothing more than a coincidence was confirmed as soon as Vila saw his expression. A flash of irritation combined with sardonic defiance. And was that just a hint of guilt, Vila thought?

"Something you forgot to mention?" Blake said accusingly. "Aphon is your brother?"

Avon smiled faintly. "Not in any meaningful sense of the word."

"Avon!"

"Yes, he's my brother. What do you what me to say?"

"Your brother?" Vila echoed. "How did he end up being a councillor on Ysoria?"

"By being a good Federation citizen and reporting his discovery to the relevant authorities that a potential weakness in the banking system was about to be exploited by a certain party." As he had been speaking, he had stepped down from his station. His wandering seemed to come to a natural terminal when he stopped behind the forward seating, a laser probe twisting uneasily between his fingers. "I do not need to tell you who that party was."

Vila felt his jaw drop open. "Your own brother turned you in? And I thought my family was rotten."

He was about to say something else when he saw Blake give a warning shake of his head. Whatever Blake knew must have been bad, Vila decided. Best not to pursue it. Not that it mattered, as Avon appeared not to be listening.

"He's a fanatic," Avon continued. "Juhel is zealous in his support of the Federation. He believes it to be the greatest force for good the galaxy has ever seen."

Vila caught his breath. Having heard the sentiment uttered by the Councillor, it was a shock to hear Avon use the exact same words.

"Ah, he has already said his piece," said Avon, noting his reaction. "I thought he might. Keen on expressing his opinion, is Juhel, even in the face of danger. You should recognise that, Blake. It's something you share in common."

"Right now, Avon, all we share in common is our presence on the _Liberator_," Blake retorted. Vila could feel the anger burning off him. "When were you going to tell us about your brother?"

"Never." Avon took a seat and sighed. "It was my intention to kill him."

If the revelation took Blake aback, he did not show it. "As easy as that."

"Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. Killing him would be satisfying, but not without risk. I have envisaged any number of different methods and have had to discard them all. Realistically, there is nothing I can do whilst our 'guests' are aboard that would not jeopardise the _Liberator_."

"And us," said Vila.

Avon gave him a sideways glance. "That consideration was not foremost in my mind."

"But, Avon, you can't kill him. He's your brother."

"Because of Juhel, people died," Avon said flatly. "_I_ should have died. Juhel used his influence to have the original death sentence commuted to life imprisonment."

"There you go," said Vila. "He saved your life. That must count for something."

"It was not for my benefit, Vila. Having a family member executed tends to affect social standing. Better to have them shuffled away out of sight. Then you change your name and forget about them."

"Oh, yes, I was going to ask about the name."

Avon stifled a laugh. "Close enough to be recognisable to his peers, pretentious enough to impress anyone who does not know him."

Blake was silent for a long moment. "Do you realise what you've done?"

Avon shrugged lightly. "Little compared with what I wanted to do. I knew Juhel was on Ysoria. I knew Ysoria had fallen and he had been taken prisoner by Milo and his rabble. When you told us you were assisting in the prisoner exchange, I saw an opportunity. A slow-acting poison would have been my weapon of choice. But the _Liberator_ lacked what I needed, along with those 'spare' parts of yours."

"You know what I mean, Avon," Blake retorted. He had come to rest behind him and was leaning over the couch. "Had you told us, I would never have agreed to assist Milo."

"Yes, you would. I spared you the necessity of having to make a choice between your ideals and the rest of us." Avon got abruptly to his feet and faced Blake. "This way, if anything does go wrong, you can salve your conscience with the knowledge that you were not in full possession of the facts. It's something we have all had to get used to. And no, we don't like it either."

Blake eyed him steadily, refusing to be riled. "Does Aphon know you are here?"

Avon turned his attention to Vila. "Did he know who you were?"

Vila shook his head. "He thought I was the hired help."

"What does that prove?" said Blake. "He recogised me."

Avon glanced across at him. "_Everyone_ knows who you are. 'Blake and the _Liberator_' is the phrase on the lips of half the Federated worlds. Which affords the rest of us a degree of anonymity. If Juhel was aware of my presence, he would have made our relationship known by now. He would have found some way of using to his advantage."

"His request to contact the High Council could be about you."

"I should say," Avon said slowly, "it is an attempt to salvage what little favour he has left. They will want someone to blame for the loss of Ysoria. The other councillors escaped. They will have had a chance to put their side of the story. My brother will bear the blame. I take consolation from own my inability to take direct action that nothing I could do to him would equal whatever the Federation has planned."

"Very well." Blake released a long sigh of annoyance. "I don't like it, Avon. If Milo finds out―"

"Who is going to tell him?"

"Aphon still might. He might have been withholding that information to use now. That was Cally on the communicator earlier. Milo wanted to see his prisoner. I thought nothing of it, but now I wonder if Sten told him about the request to contact the High Council. Milo might insist."

"Stall them. Tell them we have been unable to make contact."

"Meanwhile, stay of sight. There is a family resemblance. Slight, but it is there."

"Why do you think I have been keeping myself out of the way, despite your best efforts to involve me?"

Blake regarded him intently. "Why is he dangerous, Avon?"

Avon considered his answer carefully before replying. "He specialised in cyber security. He designed the security protocols for the Federation's civil and military divisions... and the Federation Banking System."

"Well, well," said Vila with a knowing smirk, "so now we know. You had inside information. And you let us think you did it all on your own. Not so clever, after all."

The slight stiffening of Avon's jaw was the only indication that Vila's needling had struck home. Perhaps he had not been so far from the truth.

"Juhel was always keen to talk about aspects of his work," Avon admitted. "From what he said, it was evident to me that his security system was flawless. In the end, I did not go through it, I went around it."

"He's good then, this brother of yours?" asked Vila.

"He has more experience," Avon conceded.

"Oh, so he _is_ better than you."

Avon fought and failed to suppress a scowl. "Allowing him access to Orac is inadvisable."

Vila noticed how he had ignored the remark. Changing the subject only made it obvious how much it had annoyed him.

"Keep him locked up," he continued. "And I will keep my distance."

"You won't take action against him," said Blake. "I want your word."

"You have it," Avon snapped. "Let the Federation deal with him."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a distant howl rose up from the corridor, followed by a yell and the sound of running feet. Vila turned in time to see a flash of robes as the breathless figure of Juhel Aphon suddenly appeared at the head of the stairs. Fast behind him came Milo, a smear of blood at his brow, with Cally hard on his heels. Milo grabbed Aphon's arms, too late, for the pointing finger had already identified its target.

"Avon!" Aphon cried out. "Brother, help me!"

_There's nothing like making things even more complicated. On to Chapter Four!_


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Avon was rigid, as though he had been frozen to the spot, his face blank with the shock of Aphon's sudden appearance. The contrast with his brother, the outstretched hand, the desperate eyes, the struggle he put up as Milo attempted to haul him away, could not have been more marked. Some impassioned outburst, anything, Blake thought, would have been better than this muted reaction.

"Brother, please, you know what they will do to me!" Aphon pleaded. "I saved you once. Help me now!"

Milo smacked Aphon across the back of his head with a crude club and the man crumpled, moaning softly. Then his blazing eyes turned on Blake.

"What's this?" yelled Milo. "This fool is his brother? Did you know?"

Blake glanced across at Avon. His unnatural stillness was troubling, as if warning of a coming storm broiling in the depths. It needed to be dispelled before they were all in trouble.

"Yes," he said. "I knew."

Avon turned his head in Blake's direction, as if the show of solidarity had come as a surprise. He had not known, but he was never going to admit it to Milo, for Avon's sake, as much as his.

"Really? Why do I doubt that?" His voice was mocking. "And you," he said, grabbing Aphon by his hair and shaking him. "Did you know he was aboard?"

"Yes," Aphon uttered with difficulty. "I thought he was dead and then I heard rumours he was on the _Liberator_." Once again, those pleading eyes turned to Avon. "What have they done to you? That I should find you here, amongst thieves and murderers, the vermin of the galaxy?"

"Hey, now wait a minute," spoke up Vila, incensed.

"Vila, shut up," said Blake. This was no time for semantics.

"Avon," Aphon continued. "We are blood, you are my brother. I forgive you, Avon, I forgive you."

It was enough to animate him into action. The murderous look that came to Avon's eyes was enough to make Vila skip out of his way as he started forward with a quicksilver urgency only Blake had been expecting. Blake had a sudden memory of another time Avon had been driven towards his brother, how he had been forced to stop him. Whatever strong emotion he had imagined had compelled him before, he had not anticipated the burning hate that drove him forward now.

"You dare to forgive―"

Blake stepped in front of him, blocking him.

"Get out of my way," Avon said, his voice flashing with anger.

"Leave it, Avon," Blake said quietly. "It's what he wants."

"And this is what I want."

"No, it isn't. Remember what you said. Leave him to the Federation."

"It isn't enough any more."

Avon tried to step aside. Blake was quicker. He brought his hands up against his chest. Avon pushed him back.

"Avon, walk away."

"You don't know what you're asking."

"I can guess." Blake took a deep breath. "Anna?"

Avon gave Blake a searching look, perhaps catching the note of sympathy in his voice. He had not wanted to explain before, and Blake doubted he would get a response out of him now. It had stopped him, though, and for now it was enough.

"Very well," Avon conceded. "Keep him out of my sight."

Blake nodded as Avon turned away. He followed, in case Avon was a more convincing liar than he thought. He had meant it, however, and the howled pleas that sounded from behind him made little impression.

"Brother, no, do not abandon me now!" Aphon cried out, seeing his entreaties had failed.

Avon kept walking. His brother's expression hardened and a crueller cast came to his voice.

"You were always worthless!" he spat. "No wonder you found a place amongst these people. I should have let the Federation torture you to death like you deserved!"

Avon stopped abruptly, a few feet from the _Liberator's_ weapon rack. From behind, Blake saw his head twitch towards it.

"You didn't know that, did you?" his brother taunted, warming to his subject. "If I hadn't interceded on your behalf, they would have handed you over to their best interrogators. I wasted my time, didn't I, Avon?"

"That's enough!" Blake said with vehemence. He had half-turned back to where Aphon was crouched at Milo's feet, but he was still keeping a watch on Avon out of the corner of his eye.

Aphon ignored him. Too late, his final words rang out loud and clear.

"I should have left you to die, Avon, like that _whore_!"

It had the desired effect. In a split second, Avon's hand flew down to the nearest weapon and closed around the hilt. He would have pulled it free had not Blake been quick enough to catch his wrist. Avon tried to pull away. Blake tightened his grip, never taking his eyes from Avon's face. The hand started to tremble and the merest flicker of discomfort registered on his flushed features.

"Avon, stop."

His teeth gritted against the pressure on his wrist. This close, Blake felt Avon press forward, with force enough to make him take a step back.

"Don't," Blake warned. "I'll deal with this."

Beneath his fingers, Blake could feel the bones starting to grind. Avon's eyes widened, then narrowed. Finally, he released his grip on the weapon and his gaze switched from Blake to Milo and his brother.

"He's yours. A quick death is too good for him."

With one final defiant look, Avon backed away and turned to go. He had almost made it to the top of the stairs before Milo delivered one parting shot.

"What sort of man are you?" Milo sneered. "Had anyone said that about my woman, I would have ripped out his throat."

Blake saw Avon hesitate, saw his hands clench, saw him half turn his head, his expression shielded as the moment lingered. Then, without a word, he continued on his way.

"I want him off this ship!" Milo raged, stabbing his finger at where Avon had disappeared.

"No, I won't do that," Blake returned. "You'll leave before he does."

"You owe us," Milo retorted. "You say you support the cause of freedom – prove it! Get rid of him."

"I don't owe you anything," Blake said evenly. "This is my ship." No one dared to contradict him. "I say who stays and who goes. Now you are welcome to stay, but those are my terms. I'll take responsibility for Avon."

Milo bared his teeth. "Very well, the exchange goes ahead." He scowled down at Aphon. "As for him, I want one of my men guarding the Councillor's room at all times. I don't want any unexpected reunions."

Blake noted the nervous glance Vila gave him. Allowing Milo and his men access to the ship had never been part of the plan. "Why don't you take your prisoner back to your own shuttle?"

"He likes his comfort," Milo sneered. It was rather a hollow sentiment given his rough treatment of the man. "He remains where he is."

"Then I agree."

"Good." He hauled Aphon to his feet. "Control your man, Blake. Or I will do it for you."

He dragged his prisoner away. Blake let out an exasperated sigh.

"Cally, what happened?" he demanded.

"He was waiting for us," she said, shaking her head. "He took us both by surprise. He hit Milo first, he fell into me and Aphon got away. I'm sorry."

Blake ran his hand through his hair. "It's all right, it's not your fault. Go with him, Cally. They can have a man on the door, but they are not having free range of the _Liberator_." He turned to Vila. "I want you to go with Avon."

"Why?" queried Vila. He had quailed slightly at the sharp note in Blake's voice. "What do you think he's going to do? He wouldn't really hurt him, would he? Aphon might not be a nice person, but he is his brother."

Blake regarded him dubiously. Vila had not seen the look in Avon's eye when he had grabbed the weapon. "Go after him, Vila. We've had one coincidence too many already for my liking."

"You mean out of all the people we could have had on board, this one just happens to be Avon's brother?"

Blake nodded. Vila could be unusually perceptive when he tried."That's exactly what I mean."

"He won't like me following him," said Vila uncertainly.

"He doesn't have a choice," Blake replied. "Stay with him, Vila. Don't let him out of your sight for a minute. I'm not taking any chances."

_Well now, what could possibly go wrong? On to Chapter Five!_


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"I'm sorry I missed all the excitement earlier."

Jenna offered Blake a fleeting smile as he entered the flight deck, yawning and rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes.

He struggled to return the gesture. It had been a long night, most of it spent in futile anticipation. Hours had been spent watching the monitors covering the hold or waiting for an alert from Zen that the doors had been breached. After Jenna had taken over, he had allowed himself to close his eyes. No more than five minutes, he had said. Several hours later, he had resurfaced to find none of his niggling concerns had been realised. Milo and the others remained in the hold, and the _Liberator_ was still on course to reach the exchange point in five hours. It could not come soon enough.

"I wouldn't call it excitement, so much as madness." Blake took a deep breath, trying to dispel his lingering tiredness. "You didn't see him, Jenna. I thought Avon was going to do it."

"If half of what Vila said is true, I wouldn't have blamed him."

Blake started. "Vila? When did he tell you that?"

"Soon after you left. He said he thought I needed the company."

"I told him to stay with Avon." Annoyed frustration got the better of him. "Where is he now?"

Jenna gestured to the forward seating. Vila was curled up asleep, his head resting on his folded arm and his mouth hanging open. Blake shook him awake.

"What's happening?" Vila blurted, startled into sudden consciousness. "Are we under attack?" He looked up into Blake's unimpressed face and breathed a hearty sigh of relief. "You had me worried there. I thought it was Sten coming to murder us all in our beds."

"Is that why you were asleep?"

"I couldn't help it!" Vila protested. "I've been up all night."

"Where's Avon?"

Vila shrugged. "Where I left him. He said he didn't want me around and locked himself in one of the Sub-Control rooms."

"That shouldn't have been a problem for you."

"What, pick the lock? With Avon on the other side? I'm not as silly as I look, you know."

"That's debatable," said Jenna.

"Did he stay there?"

"I suppose so," said Vila. "He said he had things to do, so I left. I didn't check on him after that."

Blake swore under his breath and stuck the back of the couch with his hand.

"What are you worried about?" said Vila. "Nothing happened. It's all been a bit of an anti-climax, if you ask me. That other fellow, Drugo, who Milo left on guard outside the brother's room, he didn't move all night either. It's like he was stuck to that chair."

It was on the tip of Blake's tongue to mention that Vila would have done better to exhibit a similar attention to his duties, but he let it pass. Under difficult circumstances, Vila had probably done the best he could for as long as Avon had been prepared to tolerate him.

"You checked on him?" Blake said instead. "I thought Cally was doing that."

"She hit her head when Avon's brother staged his escape attempt. She had a headache, so I sent her off to bed." Vila seemed pleased with himself. "It's been a quiet night, you know. No harm done."

"Well, let's hope so." The sound of the communicator made him straighten and go over to the console. "Yes, Cally?"

"Blake, I... I think we have a problem."

She sounded vague and hesitant, unlike her usual self. Blake was immediately on his guard.

"Cally, are you all right? Vila said you were injured."

"No. I'm fine." Her voice was a little firmer, though still betraying a tremor. "Blake, I'm down here on the lower deck, running some routine checks. There's been... an accident."

The hairs started to prickle on the back of his neck, his mind rushing to the possibilities. Any hope that he was wrong was dashed by Cally's next words.

"One of the life capsules has been launched," she continued uncertainly. "And there's blood. It's still wet. It looks like whatever happened here wasn't too long ago."

Before he could respond, Zen spoke out.

"Information. The door of Inner Hold One has been opened from the inside."

Vila stood up, pale as a ghost, and gulped. "He's done it, hasn't he? Avon's killed his brother."

"We don't know that, Vila," Blake said quickly, before turning back to the communicator. "Cally, check on Drugo and Aphon. But be careful. Milo is on his way up." He paused only to take a breath. "Avon, get up to the flight deck now. I don't have time to explain."

He released the button before Avon had a chance to answer with his usual protests. Vila jumped when Blake called his name. "Don't just stand there. Get a gun for each of us. Now, Vila!"

Vila ran, the fastest he had moved in days, grabbed what he needed and started by handing Blake a gun.

"You don't think Avon really has...?"

"If he has, Vila, we're all in trouble." The communicator chimed again. "Yes, Cally?"

"Aphon is not here. Drugo is unconscious. There's an injury on the back of his head."

"All right, Cally, come up to the flight deck, quick as you can."

"I can't leave him like this," she protested. "He―"

Instinct sounds smothered the last of her words. A last crackle of static and then silence.

"It's them, isn't it?" Vila murmured. "What are we going to do? They've got Cally!"

Blake drew his gun. "Then we'll get her back."

A clatter of footsteps drew his attention to the opposite corridor. Avon appeared, looking drawn and ready to voice his irritation. Blake tried to gauge whether it was the demeanour of a man who had recently committed fratricide, and decided against it. He needed an explanation, if Avon had one.

"What's the matter now?" Avon demanded. His mood changed abruptly when he saw the gun in Blake's hand. "So, you've decided our guests are a risk, after all."

Blake faced him, trying not to let his expression betray his feelings. "Your brother is missing."

"Missing?" Avon quickly covered the distance between them. "Those fools let him escape?"

"Possibly."

"How else―" The light of realisation flashed in his eyes. "Ah, you believe I was involved. Your lack of faith in me knows no bounds."

"Where have you been, Avon?"

A breathy laugh escaped him. "Not helping my brother, if that's what you think."

"It's what Milo will think. He's on his way here now. He has Cally."

His eyebrows twitched upwards. "Careless."

Given the situation, Avon's flippancy was enough to provoke anyone. Perhaps that was the point, Blake decided. An argument would be easier than facing some difficult truths. As evasion tactics went, it had proved effective in the past. But Blake was not about to let him get away with it this time.

"Is that all you've got to say?" he said.

He caught the slight narrowing of Avon's eyes and saw that he had been right. "Would a signed confession help?"

"Not if I believe you."

"Do you? Because sooner or later, you are going to have to make a choice, Blake. Make sure it is the right one."

"If you say you didn't do it, Avon, then I will defend you all the way. But if you're lying to me―"

He stopped abruptly as he caught the sound of someone approaching. Milo, bristling with weapons, followed by Sten, who held Cally by her arm and was forcing her along as their reluctant prisoner. Milo stopped at the head of the steps and surveyed the scene below him, hands on hips, smiling with an unexpected air of satisfaction.

He was too calm, Blake thought, considering what he must have found. Milo was a firebrand, given to violent outbursts. The contrast with the controlled man he now beheld was both startling and troubling. His fingers closed a little tighter around his gun.

"Well, well, isn't this nice?" said Milo with mock affability. "All friends together. Guns too. And here I was thinking we were all on the same side. Tell me, Blake, is this where you kill us and pretend it was an accident?"

"It's a precaution while you're holding a member of my crew prisoner."

Milo barely registered Cally's presence. He nodded to Sten, who released his grip and pushed her aside.

"She's no prisoner," said Milo. "I found her with my man unconscious nearby. When he didn't check in with us, we came looking. How was I supposed to know she was trying to help him?"

Cally skipped down the steps and came to join the others. She shot a worried look at Avon, but said nothing.

"Where is he, Blake?" Milo demanded. "I know you've got our prisoner hidden away somewhere."

Blake cleared his throat. "A life capsule has been launched. It would appear he's gone."

Milo exchanged glances with Sten, and scowled. "You must imagine us a load of simple-minded slime-crawlers to fall for trick like that. You've been planning this from the start, haven't you? It all makes sense now. _His_ brother, _your_ ship. No wonder you were willing to help us."

"Your man was guarding him. We had no part in this."

"I'll allow that," Milo conceded. "And when Drugo wakes up, I'll take the price of his failure from his scrawny hide, _after_ he tells me what happened to my prisoner."

"Zen," Blake called out. "Confirm Councillor Aphon's presence aboard the _Liberator_."

"That information is not available."

Milo scoffed. "So what? Computers can be altered to do your lying for you. I only believe what I can see with my own eyes. I want to see this 'capsule' you say has been launched. And then tell me how the councillor knew where to find it."

Blake could not answer that one. A lucky guess, and greater luck that he had avoided meeting anyone on the way down. Try as he might, he felt his gaze pulled towards Avon.

Milo had come to the same conclusion. "It's true what they say, blood is thicker than water."

"This has nothing to do with me," said Avon.

"Let's hope not, because if Mallory were here―"

"Mallory isn't here," said Blake firmly.

Milo's eyes blazed. "Let me finish. If Mallory were here, he'd have cut out his lying tongue by now. But out of consideration for you, our 'host', I'm going to give your man the benefit of the doubt. I'm going to wait to see what Drugo says, and I want to see that life capsule. And then I'll make my decision."

"About what?" Vila said nervously.

"About him!" Milo spat, jabbing his finger in Avon's direction. "Remember this well, Blake, you took responsibility for _him_. And by the ten sons of Metaphonis, I will have you keep your word. If he has had any hand in his brother's escape, then he will take his place."

"I never went near him," Avon retorted.

"Prove it."

And there was the problem, Blake thought. Had Vila remained with him, any doubt on either side would be eradicated. As much as Blake hated to admit it to himself, he did have his doubts.

"He was with me," Cally spoke up. Blake glanced at Avon. A muscle tightened in his jaw, but he said nothing. "He never left my side. We were together all night."

Milo's eyes narrowed as his gaze travelled to her. He studied her, long enough to make his suspicions evident, before snorting with disdain. "Convenient. But if you're lying for him, woman, know this well: you'll answer for it too. Now, where's this capsule?"

"Vila, show them." Pre-empting the objection he knew was coming, he held up his hand. Given what Cally had described, allowing Milo access to the scene would only inflame matters. But he needed time alone with Avon, and for the moment he could think of no better way to get it. "Just do it."

Vila shut his mouth and nodded unhappily. He led the pair away, and once they were out of sight, Blake turned on Avon.

"Well?" he demanded.

Avon ignored him and directed his attention to Cally. "I don't need an alibi," he said, ungraciously.

"Yes, you do," she replied. "They are ready to kill you, Avon."

"Juhel has gone. I didn't help him. They will have to live with that." He saw her clouded expression. "What now?"

"There's something Blake hasn't told you," said Cally. "Zen, give me visual on the life capsule launch room."

The screen filled with a view of the empty corridor. From behind him, Blake heard Jenna sharply catch her breath. He could not blame her. A chill went through him as he behold a scene of apparent slaughter.

Set against pristine white and silver, the smeared remains of bloody handprint ran the length of the wall, as though its owner had been clinging on for dear life, only to be dragged away. Red smudges dappled the floor and echoed the half-outline of boot prints. An arc of blood spots peppered the controls, continued on across the door and down to the floor. Councillor Aphon had not gone easily to his death.

Blake looked to Avon for his reaction. Stunned into silence, his face had drained of colour. It took him a moment to regain his composure.

"Milo will be back any minute," Blake said as the scene contracted and vanished. "What am I going to tell him?"

"Anything you like," Avon shot back. His knuckles showed white beneath the skin as he gripped the back of the couch. "I did not kill him, if that is what we are supposed to believe."

"You wanted to," said Jenna.

"Very much," he conceded. "But do you imagine I couldn't have devised something less incriminating than this?"

"Actually, I do. That looked... crude." She shivered slightly. "It's the sort of thing Milo would do. Mallory has done worse."

"But why?" said Cally. "They needed Aphon for the exchange."

"Unless..." Avon let the thought linger, as he stood in pensive silence. "He promised them someone else."

"You," said Blake.

"Do you see anyone else about to be accused of murder?"

Blake nodded. "All right, this has been staged to set you up. I can accept that. I have my doubts your brother would have colluded in his own murder."

"They would have told him he would walk away a free man. Juhel has always been guided by self-interest first and foremost. He doesn't care how many bodies he has to step over to do it, mine included."

Blake decided that now probably was not the time to mention it was a characteristic the siblings shared.

"They killed him anyway."

"Did they? Until I see a body, I will never believe it." His argument, coupled with his vehemence, was compelling. Blake was forced to agree. "Zen, track the course of the life capsule. Give me a possible destination."

"The life capsule landed on Zedalifon two hours ago."

"Do we have any information on Zedalifon?" asked Blake.

"The planet was colonised in the last seventy years. The Federation maintain a military base on Zedalifon's moon, Coricon."

"Where I'm sure he'll receive a warm reception." Avon turned from the screen, shaking his head. "That I didn't see this coming troubles me, which means I'm probably missing something."

"What?"

Avon held Blake's eyes. "I'm not enough. You might be, in exchange for Mallory, but not me."

"You underestimate yourself."

A tight-lipped smile broke his strained features. "That has never been a problem of mine. But you heard what Milo said, he has already set his sights on other members of the _Liberator_."

"He won't unless he has reason. Cally stood up for you, Avon."

"I didn't ask for her help," said he coldly.

"You got it, nonetheless. Don't take her down with you."

"But you would let them have me, because you've given your word."

"That's right, he has." Milo's voice rang out from the corridor. Sten was holding Vila by the scruff of his neck, near lifting him from the floor. "What do they call you – Avon, is it? I've seen the capsules. So you did kill him, after all. I don't blame you for that. That you chose to do it like a spineless coward tells me you have no honour. A man would have shot him dead on the flight deck. I could have respected that."

"You can drop the pretence," said Avon. "What did my brother promise you?"

Milo laughed out loud. "Is that what you've told them, these 'friends' of yours?"

"Convince us otherwise," said Blake.

"Drugo is awake. He tells me he was hit from behind, not by the councillor. Someone took him from the room, willingly or by force, it does not matter." Milo nodded to Sten. He promptly dropped Vila, who quickly scuttled down the steps and out of harm's way. "This snivelling cretin tells me a code is required to activate your life capsules unique to the individual. Your computer should be able to tell us who entered the code."

"Sorry," Vila mouthed.

"That is true," said Blake, noting the fleeting change that came over Avon's expression. What had that been? Anticipation? As if Avon had guessed the identity of the person who had helped his brother? If he had, Blake was curious to know how. "Very well. Zen, confirm the identity of the person who activated the life capsule."

Without hesitation, the answer came straight back.

"Kerr Avon."

Blake caught Avon's sudden intake of breath, and turned on him in time to see the look of angry bewilderment that passed through his eyes. A genuine reaction, seemingly hard to fake, Blake decided, and yet Zen's pronouncement was damning. Either Avon was a better liar than he was a judge of character or Zen had made a mistake. Under different circumstances, he knew which he would have chosen.

"Well, now we know," said Milo, triumphantly. "Hand him over, Blake."

"Zen, that information is incorrect," Avon called out. "Reconfirm the identity."

"Kerr Avon," Zen repeated.

And there it was, irrefutable, undeniable. Yes, computer readouts could changed, as Milo had said, but the only person aboard the _Liberator_ capable of such an act was the one being accused. Now they were in an impossible situation. Blake had told Avon he would defend him. But in the light of this evidence, what was there left to defend, damned as he had been by their own systems?

"I don't need to say any more, do I?" said Milo. "Sten, take him. The woman too," he said, nodding to Cally. "She said she was with him. She helped him."

Exactly as Avon had said, Milo was intent on claiming as many prisoners as he could. If Blake could do nothing for Avon, then he could certainly stop them taking Cally.

He drew his gun and placed himself before her, stopping Sten in his tracks.

"Going back on your word?" Milo jeered.

"Not if it's true. But I'll need more proof than that before you take any members of this crew. As you said, Milo, computers can be altered."

Was that a slight narrowing of the man's eyes he saw? It was so quick he thought he had imagined it. If so, what nerve had he touched to make Milo wary?

"_Your_ computers, Blake, not ours. And from what I hear, this is an alien vessel. You've had us locked up like animals. How are we supposed to have interfered with your technology?"

Well, that was true, Blake thought. "All the same, until I hear otherwise from Avon, I believe what he tells me."

"Your loyalty is admirable," said Milo harshly. "A pity it is not reciprocated. Your people lack respect."

"Maybe so, but no one on this ship lives in fear."

"Then perhaps it's time you did." Milo grinned wolfishly. "You see, Blake, if we do not return with a prisoner, I've given orders that our shuttle is to be blown up. If Mallory dies, then so must we all. We accepted the inevitability of our deaths long ago, but have you? What about the rest of your crew? As impressive as this ship is, I doubt it would go far with its guts ripped out."

Good move, thought Blake. It was going to be hard to negotiate their way out of this one. All the guns in the world would be as nothing if Milo was speaking the truth. And he did believe him.

"Well, what's it to be? This is as good a day as any to die."

Blake was toying with his options when Avon suddenly took the decision out of his hands.

"All right," he said, turning from the screen to face his accuser. "I did it."

"Avon, what are you doing?" Blake demanded.

"Accepting the inevitable." Avon turned from him to hold Milo's steely gaze. "I killed him. Isn't that what want to hear?"

"And the woman?" Milo said, jerking his head towards to Cally.

"She was asleep. She knew nothing about it."

Milo considered and nodded. "Very well, she stays. I'm a fair man. I'm sure the Federation will be more than pleased when we tell them we have Councillor Aphon's murderer." He nodded to Sten. "Take him."

There was nothing left to say. Blake stood aside as Sten pushed past. That confession made all the difference. He knew why Avon had said it; in his position, he would have done the same. But helping him right now was impossible without placing everyone else in danger. Those precious hours before the exchange took place might offer another, better chance.

Sten advanced, pulling a length of rough-hewn rope from his tunic pocket. Avon stood his ground, but made no attempt to fight against what was about to happen. Wisely, Blake thought; against Sten he would not have given much for his chances. An easy victory, however, was not enough. For a big man, Sten was surprisingly fast. The hand came up before Avon had a chance to react. The blow sent him sprawling. Blake winced and had to stop himself from intervening.

He had to watch as Sten twisted Avon's arms up behind his back as far as they could go and knotted the rope in place. Whether dazed or simply bearing it, Avon did not try to resist. Only when Sten started to haul him away did he seem to come back to his senses.

"Wait," said Avon breathlessly. "Let me speak."

"Too late," said Milo. "Sten, shut him up."

"Zen, run full status checks," Avon called out. "All flight deck systems, standard―"

Sten clamped his broad hand over his mouth, silencing him. Beneath his grip, Avon tried to squirm free, but was helpless.

"Don't try anything, Blake," said Milo, his mouth curling with amusement as he watched Sten dragging Avon away. "I'm prepared to accept this man acted alone, but don't push your luck. Try to rescue him and I'll send him back to you one piece at a time. I'm sure the Federation won't mind if their prisoner is missing an arm or two." He gave a derisory snort. "Now, I've had enough of this fancy ship. I'm going back to the hold. Let us know when we reach the exchange point. Other than that, keep your distance or your man will answer for it!"

_Keep his distance? I don't think so. On to Chapter Six!_


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"All right, how do we get Avon back?"

Blake looked around the flight deck, seeking suggestions and instead seeing that same look of mute disbelief on every face. The atmosphere was raw, for want of a better word. They had witnessed Avon being dragged out and, even if no one believed his confession, there was a good chance his brother had been murdered by the very people they had been trying to help.

Added to that, the systems monitoring the hold had malfunctioned. Zen reported that the auto-repair circuits would be unable to restore function until the offending objection had been removed from the lens. A spear, Blake suspected, crude but effective. He tried not to speculate on what they were doing down there.

Dwelling on it, however, was helping no one, Avon least of all. A plan was needed, and for the moment, he was struggling for ideas.

"I know!" Vila said suddenly. "We cut off life support to the hold."

"That won't work," said Jenna.

"Why not? I thought it was a good idea."

"They have a shuttle, Vila. All they have to do get aboard and threaten to torture Avon until we reactivate the life support."

"Oh." Vila tried again. "Turn off the artificial gravity then?"

"No." Jenna sighed with impatience. "For the same reasons. What _are_ we going to do, Blake? We can't let them take him off the ship."

"Agreed."

It was easier said than done. They were outnumbered and, if he was being honest, out-manoeuvred. He had to admire it. They had been backed into a corner and Avon had been extracted with near surgical precision. The phrase 'divide and conquer' kept coming to mind, except that Mallory's people seemed reluctant to pursue the 'conquer' part of the scheme.

"Full status checks are complete," Zen intoned. "All systems are functioning normally,"

"Well, that's something," muttered Vila. He glanced over at Blake. "That _is_ good news, isn't it?"

"It depends what we were expecting to find. Either someone tampered with Zen to incriminate him or Avon did it."

"No, he didn't," said Jenna. "He wouldn't have left evidence behind like that."

"He might not have been expecting anyone to check," said Cally.

"Hey," said Vila. "I thought you were on Avon's side."

"I am. I won't stand by and see anyone accused unjustly."

Vila grinned at her. "Even me?"

"I have my limits, Vila," she said, getting up and moving away.

"If someone did alter the record," said Jenna, "the obvious person would have been Avon's brother. You did say he designed security systems?"

"As far as Avon told us."

"It sounds to me like he didn't tell you much," said Jenna archly. "What does Orac say about him?"

Blake shrugged. "Very little. Aphon's security file had been redacted. Orac said the data was unrecoverable." He considered for a moment, stroking his chin in thought. "Orac," he said, "I want anything you can find about Juhel _Avon_."

"The file is extensive," came the testy reply. "A more precision directive is required."

"His area of computer expertise, then."

"Juhel Avon was former Head of the Cyber-Security Division."

"Well," said Jenna, raising her eyebrows, "I bet Avon didn't tell you that."

"No, he didn't," Blake said slowly.

"Blake," said Vila nervously, "you remember when I made that joke about Avon being Number Two, and Number One being―"

"The person who caught him," Blake finished for him. "Yes?"

Vila squirmed uncomfortably. "You don't think... well, with what Avon said about his brother telling the Federation what he was planning, is it possible... that his brother was Number One?"

"Yes, Vila, I think it is possible."

"You think he might have said."

"You don't have a brother, do you, Vila?" said Jenna.

He shook his head. "I'm an only child. My parents took one look at me and decided one was enough."

She smiled across at him. "I thought so. Not everyone has the easiest relationship with their siblings."

"Like that old saying about being able to pick your friends, but not your family?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever his feelings about his brother, Avon certainly believed him capable of interfering with the _Liberator's_ systems," said Blake. "Zen, the full status checks, run them again. Orac?" He rested his hands on the computer's casing and stared down at the chasing lights. "I want you to double-check Zen's findings. Pay particular attention to any anomalies, however insignificant."

"A waste of my time," Orac protested. "You have already been informed that all systems are functioning normally."

"Get on it with, Orac," Vila said. "If Zen has been tampered with, he might not know he'd been tampered with, if you get my meaning."

"I am aware of your meaning," Orac retorted. "However, you overlook the obvious alternative."

"Which is?" asked Blake.

An electronic sigh of exasperation sounded from within the computer. "It is a common failing of the inhabitants of this vessel to acknowledge your own vulnerabilities, specifically, a tendency towards repeating certain predictable patterns of behaviour. Had it occurred to you, for instance, that Juhel Aphon might have been familiar with Avon's code without having to access the system, then you would not be repeating your error in asking me to process such simple requests."

"'Certain predictable patterns of behaviour'," said Blake thoughtfully. "Vila, how you do recall your code?"

"Well, that's easy," he said brightly. "It's my birthday. I keep it simple, so I can remember it."

"Cally?" asked Blake.

"The date I came aboard the _Liberator_."

Jenna caught his eye. "A number or date they would have both known," said she.

"Zen," Blake called out. "Were there any previous attempts to access the life capsule before the code was accepted?"

"There were three."

Blake smiled. "Three attempts, and then he got it right."

"Avon being predictable," said Vila. "Who'd have thought it?" His face fell. "He won't like that. Who's going to tell him?"

"You can," said Blake, "when we get him back."

"I wasn't volunteering, you know."

"What's wrong, Blake?" Jenna had been looking at him, trying to read his thoughts. "At least we know Aphon did not access our systems."

He looked up. "I'm not sure we know anything for certain, Jenna. We've been on the back foot from the beginning. I'd like to know exactly what Aphon promised Milo in exchange for his release. His brother, but what else? Tell me why Milo didn't demand we give him the _Liberator_ when he had the chance."

"Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have given it to him," suggested Cally.

"With a bomb in the hold?"

"Maybe he's not as ready to die as he pretends," said Vila. "Still, I wouldn't like to put it to the test. He's insane enough to do it."

"He didn't try, that's what concerns me," said Blake. "Even if he didn't want to use the bomb, he had Avon. He could have threatened to kill him if we didn't give him the ship."

The silence dragged. Jenna voiced the obvious question.

"Would you have given it to him?"

"No." Blake's tone was firm. "We have our own safety to consider."

Vila pulled a face. "Let's hope Milo doesn't ask then, for Avon's sake."

"It's partly his fault, Vila," Blake retorted. "He should have told us about his brother."

"Avon's not the only one with a motive to kill Aphon," said Jenna. "Have you considered that Milo might not want Mallory back? He's leader now in Mallory's absence. Or perhaps, as Avon said, he fears that an incapacitated Mallory would damage the cause, more than help it. Either way, sabotaging the exchange by killing Aphon here and implicating Avon takes the blame away from him. Even if the Federation accepts Avon instead of his brother, all Milo has to do is kill Mallory and say the exchange fell through. Under those circumstances, he returns the hero. If that is his plan, he wouldn't need the _Liberator_. A ship like this for someone like Milo is as much a liability as it is an advantage."

"'A ship like this'," echoed Vila. "That's what Milo keeps saying. Why wouldn't he want it?"

"It would make him a target," said Jenna. "He also gets to discredit you, Blake, and by removing Avon, he weakens our numbers and leaves us vulnerable. It will take us time to replace him." She saw the look Cally gave her. "That must have occurred to you."

Cally appeared uncomfortable with the thought. "Yes, but I wouldn't have said it."

"Someone had to," Jenna retorted. "We need more than four people to run the _Liberator_ effectively, Blake. None of us can function properly if we have to keep doing double shifts. Perhaps that is what Milo has offered the Federation – us, as an easier target. If we're captured, no blame would ever attach to him."

"How does giving the Federation the _Liberator_ help Milo?" said Blake. "They would use it against him."

"Resentment blinds people to the implications of their actions. For all we know, he might crave recognition beyond his own sector, as you have done."

"This isn't about popularity," Blake responded with annoyance. "This is about freedom."

Jenna held his gaze. "For you. That not be Milo's primary concern."

She took a deep breath. Blake sensed she had not finished.

"Since we're being honest," she continued, "I have reason to want Mallory dead too." She looked away, her thoughts far afield in a time past. "He murdered people I knew. They were smuggling weapons to a rebel colony in the border of Sector Five. The fastest route would have taken them through Mallory's territory. They knew it was a risk, but they did it anyway because the rebels were losing ground and needed those weapons. Mallory took their ship and their cargo, and tortured them to death because he said they were working for the Federation. His followers called him a hero for that."

"I'm sorry," said Blake.

"The thing is," she went on, "I should have been on that ship. I was late and they left without me." She cleared her throat. "It could be me down there now. Avon happened to be a more convenient target. His brother knew what to say to provoke him."

"And it worked," said Vila. "That Aphon didn't have a good word to say about anyone. Sound familiar?"

"Avon isn't his brother, Vila." Blake stood in silence as he considered Jenna's admission. "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"For the same reason as Avon." She shrugged lightly. "And then because I couldn't see the Federation returning anyone who would still present a viable threat. I don't believe Mallory is alive. I hoped it was a trap and we were sending Milo and the others to their deaths."

"Jenna!" said Cally.

"It's no more than they deserve," she said coldly. "If our situations were reversed, it's what Mallory would do."

"Mallory wouldn't be in this situation," said Vila miserably. "He would have killed Avon and thrown that lot off the ship ages ago."

"'What Mallory would do'," Blake pondered. "Perhaps that's the answer." A smile started to take shape behind the fingers he held to his lips. "Orac, if I describe something I saw once, can you give me a visual?"

"That depends on your degree of accuracy."

Blake sketched the description in a few words, and a moment later an image appeared on the screen. "Yes, that's it."

"I don't like it," said Vila, suspiciously. "What is it?"

"A way out," said Blake.

"Oh, Avon won't like that."

"Then give me an alternative!" He regretted being sharp when he saw Vila's face. "I'm not saying it's without risk. But it's more focused than anything we've got. Orac, can we build a working model of the device?"

"With guidance," came Orac's reply.

"And a possible location, the safest option? It needs to look convincing."

"There is no such thing as safe, given what you propose."

"Minimum damage then?" An outline filled the main monitor with a small blinking light marking the place Orac suggested. "Within the _Liberator's_ capabilities, I assume?"

"That's very precise," said Cally, her expression betraying her concern as she studied the image. "Can you manage it, Blake? An inch either way and the damage could be severe. I could do it, if you prefer."

Blake gave her offer some thought. "No, it has to be me. They think we're weak, Cally."

"Soft was the word Milo used," Vila spoke up.

"That too," Blake agreed. "We let them take Avon without a fight and there will be nowhere safe for any of us. Right, let's get started. How long until we reach the rendezvous point?"

"A little over four hours," said Jenna.

"Allowing time for a trial run, that should be enough. Cally, I need you to let Avon know what we're planning. No particulars, just tell him to go along with it."

Cally nodded. Her gaze drifted slightly before her eyes squeezed tight and she grimaced. "I cannot. His mind is closed to me. He might be unconscious, I'm not sure."

"Or dead," said Jenna. "If they said he tried to escape and killed him, they would have to abandon the exchange. As I said, that might have been Milo's plan all along."

"Without a visual, we have no way of knowing for sure," said Blake with frustration. "Very well, Vila, you'll have to go down there."

"Me?" Vila looked shocked. "Now, wait a minute. You heard what Milo said he would do if we tried to rescue him."

"Use your ingenuity. If anyone can get in there, you can."

"You think so?" Vila said unhappily. "You're not just saying that because you think I'm expendable?"

There was something about the way he said it that caught Blake off-guard. He knew from Cally that Avon had once said similar to him. That Vila should be thinking it now made him wonder what had happened to bring it to the surface again. Whatever it was, now more than ever they needed unity.

"No, Vila," he said, laying his hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "I say it because I'm trusting you with Avon's life. If we get this wrong, either way, he's dead."

_Sounds worrying. Get it right, Vila. On to Chapter Seven!_


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Reluctant footsteps brought Vila to the door of the inner hold. The control panel dangled jauntily from a single hinge, smashed by the rebels within in their determination to keep what was left of the _Liberator's_ crew at bay. Several blackened wires offered feeble intermittent sparks, latent electricity snapping and crackling within inches of Vila's nose as he peered at the fractured panel.

It had taken some violence to cause that much damage. Vila gulped as he thought of that same force aimed at his head. Yet again, the thought struck him that there were a hundred better places he could have been. Standing outside the very door, however, his feet, and a sense of obligation, would not let him turn away.

Blake was expecting him to do this. Avon was depending on it. Too many people to let down, he decided. Well, he had put it off long enough.

He raised his hand and knocked gently on the door. There, he told himself, at the lack of response, nothing to worry about. They weren't answering. He turned, thought what Blake was going to say, and decided he should try once more, just to satisfy the criticism which was bound to come his way.

He knocked again, a little louder this time. He was on the point of turning when he caught the slight hiss as the door broke its seals. It slid back to reveal the gargantuan figure of Sten filling the opening. Vila glanced up into the unsmiling face and tried his best to look unthreatening.

"Oh, hello," he said. "I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here."

Sten continued to stare down at him. Vila cursed himself for forgetting that the man couldn't have replied even if he had wanted to do so.

"It's about Avon," Vila continued uncertainly.

It was at that point that Sten's hand shot out to grasp the front of his clothing. Vila was dragged inside the hold, his feet barely scraping the floor, only to dropped without a moment's warning. He landed awkwardly, the metal flask he was carrying driving up into his stomach. When he sat up, it was find the woman, Avice, and another of Milo's people, the man called Edun, looking down at him. Neither of them looked pleased to see him.

"You were told not to come here," said Avice. She looked tired, Vila decided, and lacking in patience. "What do you want?"

"It's about Avon," Vila repeated. "He's ill."

Her faded blue eyes narrowed. "What?"

"He hasn't told you?"

Avice exchanged a glance with Edun. "We didn't ask him. Explain."

Vila felt the sweat prickling on his forehead. _Use your ingenuity_, Blake had said. _If anyone can get in there, you can_. But now he was here, the excuse he had come up with seemed inadequate. Painfully so, especially for him if they didn't believe him.

"Radiation sickness," he said quickly. "We've all had it. We've been having treatment." He gestured weakly to the flask he was clutching.

Avice snatched it from him, opened it and sniffed the contents. Unable to make up her mind, she tipped a little of the clear liquid onto her palm. "What is it?" she demanded.

"Water," said Vila.

He saw the suspicion fade from her features. The effect honest answers had on people never failed to impress him. Truth had its uses, after all.

"We add the medicine to it," he continued, drawing the small silver packet from his tunic. Sten grabbed his wrist and took it from him to hand over to Avice. She inspected it, but could make no sense of the jumble of random numbers and letters on the wrapping. In matter of fact, it was nothing more than a soluble vitamin powder, but Vila wasn't about to tell her that.

She tossed the packet onto Vila's lap. "Avon didn't look ill when Milo brought him down," she said instead.

"He wouldn't," said Vila, resisting the urge to lick his dry lips. The first sign of a poor liar, his father had taught him. "This is the last treatment." He managed a rueful chuckle. "I expect he was hoping the radiation sickness would get him before you did."

Doubt flared in her eyes again. "And you want to save him?"

"He's a filthy murderer," said Vila, warming to his role. "He lied to all of us. Do you think we care what happens to him?"

"Yes, I think you do," said Avice. "Bounds forged in the heat of battle aren't easily forgotten."

Vila wondered whether that statement was meant solely for him when he saw the look that Edun gave her. Out of Milo's influence, these people had more to say for themselves than he would allow. That might work in his favour, he decided.

"Avon would betray us without a second thought if there was some advantage for him," said Vila quickly. "You're doing us a favour, taking him off our hands. You can do what you like with him as far as I care. If the Federation want him in exchange for Mallory, good riddance, I say."

"I don't believe you," Avice said.

Her expression told of her growing indecision, however. Vila tried again.

"Look, he's nothing to us. He's not a rebel, he's just along for the ride. If he dies here, you don't get Mallory and you blame us. That would suit Avon, but not us. That's why I'm here, not for him, for us."

Avice stared at him, her hard eyes trying to take his measure. Slowly, she began to nod.

"Milo won't like it," Edun said to her.

"He won't like it if Avon dies either," she shot back.

"At least wake him and tell him."

"No need," said Avice. "If this one is telling the truth, our prisoner lives. If he lies and Avon dies, then we destroy the _Liberator_."

Vila blinked. "You think I've come here to poison him?"

"It had crossed my mind."

Vila ripped the corner off the packet and dabbed a little of the powder on his finger before licking it. Never a pleasant taste even when mixed, he couldn't stop himself grimacing.

"See?" he said. "Not poison."

"Very well," said Avice. "Give him the medicine. Sten, go with him and watch them both. If Avon won't take it, force him."

Avice and Edun departed, leaving Vila to scramble to his feet in the shadow of the big man. Sten raised a pointing finger to indicate the way and Vila started towards a darkened corner of the hold. A creeping anxiety of what he might find was soon dispelled when he made out Avon's familiar shape in the gloom. Lying on his side, with his arms still bound behind his back, he was unconscious but relatively intact. The livid red mark on his cheek told where Sten had hit him; whatever had happened since then was hidden beneath his clothes. Something involving fists and boots and a good deal of bruising, Vila decided.

He shook Avon by his shoulder and met with a muted response. He tried again, and managed to get a faint groan, reassuring but not enough for Sten, who had grown impatient and stepped forward to deliver a kick to Avon's stomach. Vila winced as Avon doubled up, gasping from the pain of it, and slowly his eyes opened.

"Vila," he said. "I should have known."

"No more than you deserve, you murderer."

Avon opened his mouth to say something, caught sight of Sten standing a few feet away and thought better of it.

"Thought you'd escape justice by dying, did you?" said Vila. "Well, I've got your medicine right here. And if you don't take, Sten will make you. _Understand_?"

He silently hoped that Avon wasn't about to make a scene. That would be painful for both of them.

"I understand," said Avon grudgingly. He propped himself up on one elbow, his expression betraying his discomfort. "Help me up."

"What happened to you?" Vila said, lowering his voice as he pulled Avon up into a sitting position.

"Drugo objected to being hit over the head, amongst other things," said Avon gruffly. "Why are you here, Vila?"

Vila glanced over at where Sten was standing, his gaze never wavering. "To see justice is delivered," he said loudly. Then, quietly, to Avon: "Blake has a plan."

"What is it?"

He wavered. "Better you don't know. You won't like it."

"_Vila_."

"It's all I'm allowed to tell you."

"You risked both of our lives for that?"

Vila squirmed uncomfortably. "Blake didn't want you doing anything rash, like trying to escape."

A low snort escaped him. "I haven't had the chance." Avon's gaze came back to Vila. "Shouldn't you be giving me my medicine?"

Vila nodded hurriedly. He opened the flask and poured the contents of the packet into it. When he looked up, he found Avon watching him closely.

"Did Zen run the scan?" Avon asked.

"Yes. Nothing."

Avon muttered something under his breath. "Run it again."

"There's nothing to find, Avon. What are you expecting?"

"If I knew that, you wouldn't have to ask," he breathed with evident frustration. "_Something_ would be better than nothing. I need access to Zen."

Vila tightened the lid on the flask and began to shake it. He caught Sten's eye and smiled encouragingly before turning back to Avon.

"He's good, your brother, isn't he?"

Avon's jaw tightened, and he did not reply.

"Head of Cyber-Security?" Vila prompted. "I don't know much about computers, but that says to me–"

"He was good," Avon interrupted him. "Or rather, _is_ good."

"As good as Ensor?" Vila asked.

Avon's cold gaze came to rest on him. "It's a different field."

"Another of these so-called geniuses then?"

"He liked to think so."

Vila paused. "Sorry."

"About what?"

"Well, he was your brother."

Avon sighed with annoyance. "He isn't dead, Vila."

"Even so–"

"Save your concern for us. We'll need it."

Vila knew their time was up when he heard Sten take a step forward. "All right," he said. "I'm giving it to him."

He sat for a moment in indecision. Then, making up his mind, he pulled Avon forward and glanced down at his bound hands and the blood-stained rope where the fibres had bit deep into the flesh of his wrists.

"Can I untie him?" Vila said to Sten. "He needs to drink this."

Sten shook his head and jabbed his finger at Avon.

"I see," Vila muttered. He raised the flask to Avon's lips. "Well, I did my best."

Avon moved his head away. "What is it?"

"A vitamin supplement. Look at it this way. If the plan goes wrong, you'll still be the healthiest one here, even if you are dead."

"You make it sound quite attractive when you put it like that. Very well, go ahead."

Vila brought the flask up again and tried to dribble the contents little by little into Avon's mouth. His hand jogged and the flow increased, making Avon cough and choke. Sten's hand suddenly closed around his wrist and dragged the flask away.

"He's had enough anyway," said Vila. Only when he saw the quick movement of Avon's eyes to a point just over his shoulder did he realise that his sloppy handling was not Sten's only concern. Vila turned quickly to find Milo standing a little distance away watching them, arms folded and a darkening expression on his face.

"What did I say would happen if Blake tried to rescue him?" Milo said to Vila.

"He was giving him medicine," said Avice, hovering behind him.

"You're a fool!" Milo spat at her. "If Avon was ill, then he can tell us what was wrong with him."

Vila gasped as Sten's arm suddenly snaked around his neck. Tight and growing tighter all the time, pressing on his windpipe, Vila struggled for breath and tried to remember if he had told Avon the nature of his invented condition. Get it wrong, and he was certain Sten wouldn't hesitate to break his neck.

"Well, Avon?" Milo demanded.

Avon held his gaze. "Radiation sickness."

Vila felt his heart skip his beat. He didn't know how Avon had guessed correctly, but he was relieved he had.

"That's what this one told us," said Avice.

"It was an excuse to get access to him," said Milo. "Sten, have they been talking?"

Vila felt, rather than saw, Sten nod.

Milo swore and aimed a kick at Avon's leg. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing he didn't already know," said Avon between gritted teeth.

Milo's face was growing ever redder with fury. "Kill him, Sten. Whatever he came to find out, it dies with him."

"Milo, wait!" Avice protested. Not a moment too soon, as far as Vila was concerned, for he had felt the slight tightening of Sten's arm muscles against his neck.

"Wait for what?" Milo retorted. "I warned Blake."

"He wouldn't risk one of his one people unless it was necessary. You know what they say about him. Don't push him, Milo."

"Shut up!" he yelled at her.

"Remember Mallory!" she countered. "Don't do this."

It seemed to strike a chord with him. "Mallory, yes," said Milo, suddenly calmer. "Let him go, Sten. And you," he said, directing his attention to Vila, "get back to your master and tell him to stop meddling in our affairs. The next person he sends down here dies. Do you understand?"

Vila nodded hurriedly. Sten scooped him up by the arm and half-carried, half-dragged him back to the door before throwing him out into the corridor. No sooner had he stopped rolling than Vila picked himself and starting running as fast as his legs would carrying him.

He didn't stop running until he rounded the corner and saw the flight deck laid out before him. At the centre table, Blake and Cally were bent over a small metal device, a bright array of sparks flying as one part was welded to another. Momentum carried Vila down the stairs and into the back of the seating.

"Vila!" Blake exclaimed, near dropping the object as Vila bumped into him. "Be careful."

"How was Avon?" asked Cally.

"He's all right," said Vila, trying to catch his breath. "They've roughed him up, but he's in one piece. It's me they wanted to kill!"

"What stopped them?"

"Mallory," said Blake unconcernedly, his attention still focused on what he was doing. "It was rhetoric, Vila, you were in no danger."

"It didn't feel like it."

"Milo has a reputation to protect. Did they threaten Avon?"

Vila paused. "Come to think of it, no. But Milo was ready to kill me until that woman, Avice, stopped him."

"He wouldn't have gone through with it," said Blake. "They need us alive, for the time being. Did you tell Avon the plan?"

"I told him you _had_ a plan. I didn't say what it was."

"Good." He sat back and rubbed his eyes. "Well, there it is. What do you think?"

Vila peered at the device. A curious amalgam of a pipe and blocks, scavenged from several of the _Liberator's_ secondary systems, small enough to fit comfortably in the hand.

"Will it work?" he asked.

"Orac seems to think it will," said Blake. "I need to give it a test run to be certain."

"Are we sure there's no other way?" said Jenna. "It's risky."

"Yes, it is," Blake agreed. "But it's either this or let them take Avon off the _Liberator_ without a fight. How long have we got?"

"Ninety minutes until we reach the rendezvous point."

"Anything on the long-range detectors?"

Jenna shook her head. "I don't like it, Blake."

"Neither do I." He weighed the device in his hand. "Right now, this is the best we've got."

"Doesn't say much for us," muttered Vila. "We've got all this, and we're relying on _that_. Puts us on the same level as Milo with his clubs and spears."

"It's a level he can understand," said Blake.

"They're worried about you. Avice said you wouldn't put one of us in risk unnecessarily."

"She was right. Which is why they won't be expecting this."

"Nor will Avon," said Vila unhappily.

"As long as we get him back," said Blake. "_Whatever_ it takes."

_Let's hope Blake is right. On to Chapter Eight!_


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

"If you're not sure," Cally was saying, "I will do it."

If she had said it once, it was starting to feel like she had said it a hundred times. Blake appreciated the gesture, but he could have wished she had more faith in his abilities. This constant doubt was starting to make him wonder if he should be doing it at all. On the surface, it seemed the height of madness. Not doing it, however, meant the day was almost certainly going to end in disaster and the loss of more than one member of the _Liberator's_ crew.

He had accepted the responsibility. Now he needed support, not this continual questioning.

"I can manage," he snapped. He saw her expression and inwardly cursed himself for losing his temper. "I'm sorry, Cally. Normally, I would let you do it, but this time it has to be me."

She nodded. "I understand. We know you'll do your best."

Another chip out of his confidence. No one was expecting this to go well.

He glanced down at the device in his hand. The test runs had gone better than anticipated. The product of primitive times, he had seen the damage it could do, even more so with Orac's recommendations for improvement. The result would be messy. Once done, time would be of the essence. With a sigh of resignation, he tucked into the back of his belt.

"Come on," he said to Cally and Vila. "Let's get this done."

Leaving Cally to stow the case she had brought with her out of sight, Blake strode up the door of the hold and hammered on it.

A gruff voice sounded from within, demanding to know what he wanted.

"Why don't you open the door and find out?" he replied.

After a delay calculated to let him know who was in charge, the door was finally pushed back. Milo stood there, hands on hips, contempt etched on his features. Or so Blake thought. Was there something else there? Nervousness perhaps, in the way he glanced at the ever-watchful Sten, who stood at his side, a silent sentinel ready to react to his every command?

"What do you want?" Milo demanded.

As arrogant as ever, thought Blake. He had every reason to be. He had the _Liberator_ held to ransom. Well, not for long.

"We're approaching the rendezvous point," said Blake.

A look of suspicion creased the man's brow. "We're early."

Blake smiled slightly. "Better than being late."

"Right." The facade faltered fractionally. "We'll leave your ship now and wait for our contact to arrive. We've had enough of your _hospitality_."

Milo nodded to Sten, who started to heave the door shut. Blake stepped forward, impeding its progress. Probably not the wisest thing to do, as Sten appeared to have no intention of stopping. He had to step over the threshold before he was crushed. Only then did Sten pause.

"Before you do," he said. "I want to see Avon."

"Get out!" said Milo. "I've warned you about interfering."

Blake held up his hands, indicating that he came unarmed. "I want to talk, nothing more."

"A fond farewell?"

"Something like that. Besides," he added, "if you've killed him, we'll need to renegotiate our agreement."

Milo's eyes narrowed slightly. "Just you then."

"I want Vila and Cally here," Blake insisted. "As witnesses."

"Oh, yes, the woman." Milo's lip curled into a knowing sneer. "It's a pity to split the lovers up. She can come with us, if she wants to be with him."

"No, she won't be doing that. She wants to see him for one last time, that's all."

"Pathetic." Milo snorted. "My woman would have walked by my side through the fires of Gaventella had I asked."

"Yes, well, we do things differently here on the _Liberator_."

The look on Milo's face spoke eloquently of what he thought about Blake's methods. Nothing more complicated than pure undiluted hate, Blake thought, coupled with a raging desire to see it all taken away from him. So such for unity against a common cause.

Seeing that Blake had no intention of leaving, Milo relented. "Very well. Sten, make sure they haven't got any weapons."

It was as rough a frisking as any Blake had had. He caught himself holding his breath as Sten worked his hands down the small of his back, missing by inches the device buried beneath the bulk of his clothing. When Sten moved on to the others, Vila made noises of protest as he was manhandled. Only Cally maintained a stoic demeanour, saying nothing as Sten completed his inspection.

Having gained entry, Blake took the opportunity for a surreptitious inspection. One of the consoles had been stripped, presumably for the parts needed to repair the rebel's vessel, and discarded pieces lay scattered across the floor. Elsewhere appeared undisturbed. That meant nothing, of course. Had they hidden an explosive device somewhere in the hold, they would have been careful to put everything back as they had found it to avoid raising suspicion.

"We took what we needed," said Milo, following the direction of Blake's gaze, "since you were reluctant to give us any assistance."

"Not intentionally," said Blake. "Our ship has a self-repair function."

"Of course it does. You wouldn't want to get your hands dirty with manual labour."

"And we've all had other concerns since then."

Milo eyed him with evident scorn. "That's what happens when you can't rely on your men."

"As long as they know they can rely on me."

"Keeping telling yourself that, Blake. You wouldn't survive a day with us."

"How you control your men is your business, Milo," Blake countered. "Avon is my responsibility. Where is he?"

On cue, Drugo dragged Avon out of the shuttle by his arm and forced him down the ramp. He brought his prisoner over to Milo and stopped beside him.

"Avon," said Blake, nodding to him. "Are you all right?"

Hands tied behind his back, he looked annoyed, tired and worse for wear, but at least he was alive and relatively uninjured, save for the angry red mark on his cheek, purpling in places where the bruise was beginning to come out.

"I've had better days," Avon replied.

"You got any complaints about your treatment?" said Milo.

Avon thought about it, and decided to say nothing, especially when Drugo twisted one of his arms higher up his back. He fought it, tried to pull away, a good effort but futile. Nor was it helping. The last thing Blake needed was a moving target. He caught Cally's eye. As they had arranged, she nodded, stared at Avon and he stopped struggling.

Good, thought Blake. _All he needs to do is go along with it. I'll do the rest._

"Well, you've seen him." Milo gave Blake a defiant stare. "Now get out and we'll be on our way. Oh, and don't go too far. We'll need safe passage back to Sector Five."

"Why should I do that? You've already caused enough trouble on this ship."

"You'll do it for Mallory," said Milo.

"Ah, yes, Mallory," said Blake thoughtfully. He half-turned, as if to leave, and paused. "Before I go, tell me, what does the Federation _really_ want in exchange for Mallory?"

"What?" He had caught Milo off-guard. Knowing Blake had seen it, he tried to cover his slip with bluster. "I've warned you. Now get out!"

His outburst had alerted his other followers. The other two men and the woman, Avice, appeared from the ship and came hurrying over. From behind him, he could hear Vila make a worried noise. He had good reason. They were outnumbered. More importantly, Blake thought, he had an audience. Even if Milo had made up his mind to continue down this path, perhaps his followers might still be open to reason.

"You're right, Milo," Blake began. "Mallory is a legend. Avon isn't enough. I'm probably not even enough. But the _Liberator_, well, that's a temptation. With this ship, the Federation could create a template to allow them to build a fleet to rule the whole galaxy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Milo retorted.

"That you've got this far is an achievement," Blake said. "We didn't anticipate it. And you've had it all your own way. But it goes no further. I lied, Milo. We're an hour away from the rendezvous point."

The man's eyes blazed. "What the hell?!"

"I wanted to give you time to reconsider. I understand you want Mallory back. This is not the way to do it, believe me. You cannot trust them."

"What is he talking about, Milo?" asked Avice.

The uncertainty in her voice riled her leader.

"Shut up!" he barked at her.

"Why don't you tell her?" Blake urged. "No? Then let me. When you took Ysoria, Councillor Aphon was left behind and became your prisoner. Your reputation precedes you, Milo. He expected to be killed. So, instead, he made a deal with you – his life for something greater. He told you about his brother, who he was and where he was. He would have also told you about the bad blood between them, of the kind that runs deep. But that wasn't all. He had something else to offer, his own particular skills. All you had to do was get him onboard the _Liberator_."

Blake paused, noting the anxious look that Drugo shot his leader.

"But that wasn't enough. You needed Avon out of the way. You needed me to think he had killed his brother and robbed you of your prisoner. You knew I would never countenance handing over a member of my crew without evidence. So you – and Drugo – provided that." Blake stared at the man, whose face was betraying his complicity. "It's not difficult to manufacture an injury like that. As for the blood you left in the life capsule corridor, we haven't tested it yet but I'm not expecting it to belong to the councillor. For the record, I don't believe Avon killed his brother."

"He confessed," said Milo.

"No, he didn't. He bought us time, that's all." Blake maintained eye contact with the man, keeping his gaze firm and steady. "Everything I've read about the councillor supports Avon's story that his brother is as zealous a supporter of the Federation as they come. Do you really believe a man like that would collude with rebels to the detriment of everything in which he believes? He's going to betray you, Milo. You won't get Mallory back. There will be a Federation cruiser waiting for you at the rendezvous point, to destroy you if you're lucky, or take you prisoner if not."

Blake had given it a great deal of thought. And from Milo's expression, he knew he was right. The struggle was there, between the need to maintain face before his followers and the truth of Blake's words. Yet, still Milo resisted. Blake could only sigh with annoyance at the man's stubbornness, even when all was known.

"Despite what you've done," he went on, "I'm ready to accept it was with the best of intentions. Unfortunately that has also blinded you to the possibility you are walking into a trap, laid not just for us, but for you as well. Now, lay down your weapons. There is no need for us to be enemies."

"No!" Milo yelled. "No, he's lying! Don't you see what he's doing?"

He glanced about him, sensing the growing consternation amongst his followers. Even the loyal Sten had begun shaking his head to express his doubt in his leader.

"Mallory is alive, believe me." He was appealing to them, trying to win them back on his side. "This Blake knows nothing of our struggle. Was he there when our children were crying out because they were starving? When our women were shot before our very eyes? No! It was Mallory who freed us. Have you forgotten?"

Ashamed, they murmured their assent. A reminder of what they owed the man had brought them back on Milo's side. And who could blame them, Blake thought. Why should they trust anything he said over the word of the man who had led them this far?

"The Federation will not go back on their word. We will give them Kerr Avon and they will give us Mallory."

Milo glanced in triumph at Blake. It was a victory of sorts. A small petty, personal victory, which would see them lose more than their leader.

"Now get out," he hissed.

"I see." Blake bowed his head, put his hand behind his back and curled his fingers around the device. He had hoped Milo would see reason, that it would not come to this. "You've used Avon to hold us to ransom. Without him, I would have put you off this ship hours ago. I can't let you take him. Avon knows too much about us. When the Federation extracts that knowledge from him, and they will, we lose our advantage."

Milo grabbed Avon by his left arm and pulled him hard up against him. A knife had appeared in his hand and he pressed it against his captive's throat, hard enough for a small bead of blood to appear. From the corner of his eye, Blake thought he saw Cally wince. That Avon was not resisting meant she was still in contact with him. But it was only going to last so long. Blake could tell from Avon's expression that he was fast losing patience with a plan that he knew nothing about and seemed to be as far from removing him from the rebel's hands as ever. Well, now or never, Blake thought.

"If you try to take him, I'll kill him," Milo growled.

"How will that help Mallory?"

"His brother has seen this ship. He can tell them what they want to know."

"Then why do they need Avon?"

Blake saw Milo falter. It was revealing. Alive or dead, it did not matter to the Federation, as long as Avon was separated from the _Liberator_.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking I won't do it," Milo countered. "Take us to the rendezvous point now or his blood will be on your hands."

"I'm willing to take that responsibility."

As Blake had planned, it happened quickly. Neither Avon nor Milo saw it coming. No time to think, the weapon was in his hand and the solid-tipped bullet on its way before doubt crumbled his resolve. He had tested it, knew it worked. The hole the projectile had punched through a section of panelling testified to its brutal efficiency.

Avon fell in a senseless heap to the floor without ever uttering a word. Unconscious, Blake hoped, rather than dead. The small hole in his jacket where the bullet had entered his right shoulder seemed to be in the correct location, more or less, according to Orac's calculations.

Milo stood there, stunned, staring down at the body at his feet, insensible to the thin cry of anguish that broke from Avice. She ran to Avon, kneeling at his side and cradling his head.

"No, no, he can't be dead!" she wailed. She looked up at Blake, tears streaming down her face. "Why, why have you done this?"

Blake eased his grip on the weapon, feeling the raw heat caused by the recoil against his palm. When he had mentioned it to Orac during testing, he was told it was down to the error of the user. But then Orac would say that. Any criticism of the computer's interpretation of a percussion weapon had been met with instant dismissal.

"You left us no choice."

Avice turned her anger on Milo. "What have you done?" she cried. "I warned you about Blake!"

She hurled herself at him, beating him on the chest with her fists, only to receive a blow to the face that knocked her down.

"Silence!" he hissed at her. "This changes nothing."

Blake heard Cally's voice in his mind warning him this was taking too long. He was conscious too of the pool of blood slowly spreading from Avon's shoulder.

"Oh, I think it does," said Blake. "As I said, Avon knew too much. He was useful, but not indispensable. Now, get off my ship."

"You think you've won," said Milo, his face etched with hatred. He warily eyed the weapon Blake still held, not knowing that its single bullet had already been spent. "All right, we'll go. But you, with your fancy ship and your precious principles and your pathetic followers, you rot in hell!"

With that, he stalked back to the ship. One by one, his followers retreated after him until only Avice remained. Despite her tears and the blood dribbling down her chin from her lip, she was resolute, refusing to relinquish her hold on Avon's limp hand.

"Leave us the body," she pleaded. "Something, please, _anything_ for Mallory. They might accept it. Please, Blake."

"No," Blake said firmly. "Vila, get Avon. Get him now." Vila scuttled away and knelt by Avon's head. He gently peeled Avice's hand away and began to grip Avon by the shoulders. "By the feet, Vila," Blake had to remind him.

Avice watched as Vila started to haul Avon away, leaving a bloody trail as he went.

"I'm sorry," Blake said to her. "I tried to help you. Milo wouldn't listen."

"I can't blame you," she replied. "Why should you help us now, after this? You must despise us."

"Not all of you, no."

"If I had known Milo had planned this, I would have killed him," she said, slowly rising to her feet. "You see, Mallory... is my husband. I would have done anything for him. I _will_ do anything for him. If they cannot have Avon, then they might accept Milo instead."

"I wish you the best of luck. I would say that Milo has plans of his own."

She tilted her head, tears no longer flowing, and set her jaw in determination. "Then he will not live long enough to carry them out."

Blake nodded, and waited until Avice had started up the ramp into the shuttle before hurrying over to where Cally and Vila were struggling to carry Avon between them. Taking over Cally's position at Avon's uninjured shoulder, he instructed her to get the door and finally managed to get him outside. Propping him up against the wall on the floor, Blake stood back while Cally tore open Avon's shirt and inspected the wound.

"Clean," she said, the relief evident in her voice. "It went straight through him as Orac predicted."

"That's something," said Vila.

"The wound is still bleeding." She glanced up at Blake. "You were off by several inches. There will be nerve damage."

Orac had advised of the need for precision. Punching a hole through the human body was not without risks, the computer had warned them, however carefully chosen the location. The consequences of missing could be fatal.

"Within the capabilities of the surgical unit?" Blake asked with concern.

"I hope so." She was busy sorting through the case of supplies she had brought from the treatment room. Selecting a healing pad, she applied it to the weeping injury. "There, that should stop the bleeding."

Leaving her to work, Blake stepped over them to the communicator and hailed the flight deck.

"Did you get him?" asked Jenna.

"More or less," said Blake. "As soon as the shuttle clears the hold, get us out of here."

"Do you want me to fire on them?"

He knew Jenna would not normally have hesitated, given her history with the rebels. It was only a courtesy that he was being asked at all.

"No," he said. "They'll have problems of their own soon enough."

He switched the communicator off and turned his attention back to Avon. His face had taken on a waxy hue and he looked paler than ever.

"Can you wake him?" Blake said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Cally replied.

"I need to find out what they've done to the ship."

He leant over and slapped Avon's cheeks, the force of the blows caused his head to rock from side to side. Cally began to protest, but as Avon started to moan and his eyelids fluttered open, she kept her disapproval to herself.

"Avon," Blake said. "Come on, I need you to wake up."

He was groggy and evidently pained. It took a moment for his eyes to focus. "What the hell?" he muttered. "Shooting me, _that_ was your plan?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"No wonder you didn't want me to know."

"Oh, come on, Avon," said Vila. "Show a little gratitude. If it was me being held by that lot, I'd be pleased to be shot to get away from them."

"That's because you're a fool," Avon retorted.

Vila shrugged. "So you say. But I'm not the one who was dragged out of there by his feet."

Blake smiled. Avon seemed a little stronger and more alert for swapping insults with Vila.

"What was that thing?" he asked.

Blake took out the weapon to show him. "President Sarkoff had something similar. He called it a revolver. I had Orac provide us with plans for a working replica with a hard-nose projectile to make sure it passed through you. We had to take parts from your detector shield to build it, I'm afraid."

Avon gave a soft snort. "Well, that makes a change from Vila dismantling it to attract my attention."

Vila started. "You knew it was me?"

"Avon, I need to know," Blake interrupted him. There would be time for them to sort out their differences later. "Did Milo do something to the ship? An explosive device in the hold, anything like that?"

Avon wetted his lips. A sheen of sweat was starting to form on his brow. "Not that I saw. Did you run the scans?"

Blake nodded. "Several times. We found nothing."

"Which in itself is meaningless. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence." Avon made a half-hearted attempt to push himself up, only to fail. Vila caught him before he collapsed. "I need to get to Zen."

"I agree," said Blake, standing upright. From the hold, the sound of a plasma drive on full thrust retreating into the distance was followed by the dull metallic thud as the outer doors closed. "Cally, see what you can do to get Avon back on his feet. Both of you join us on the flight deck as soon as you can. Come on, Vila."

He had only made it halfway down the corridor before the communicator chimed.

"Blake," came Jenna's voice. "You need to get up here fast. We have a problem."

_And this is where we came in way back in the Prologue. I wonder what that problem could be... _


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Blake ran down the corridor, taking the steps down to the flight deck two at a time, Vila at his heels. The _Liberator_ should have been moving, speed Standard by Ten. Instead it was stilled, drifting out of control.

Out of our control anyway, Blake corrected himself.

"Jenna, what's happening?"

At the main pilot's station, she shook her head, her expression mirroring her confusion.

"I don't understand. Zen's not responding. Negative response on all controls. The secondaries are out too."

"Switch to manual," Blake suggested.

"I've tried," Jenna replied. "Nothing. The controls are dead."

"Zen!" Blake called out.

Lights moved across the bronzed surface, more erratically than usual, Blake noticed. A single light stalled, blinked rapidly, and then the sequence resumed. Zen was working, but unable or unwilling to respond.

"Orac, what's wrong with Zen?" he demanded.

"Blake," Vila said, a worried note in his voice.

"Not now. Orac!"

"What do you want now?" came the testy reply.

"What's happening?"

"Blake!" said Vila again.

Blake ignored him. "Well, Orac?"

Orac made a noise that sounded like the electronic sigh of impatience. "That should be obvious even to a species of your limited intelligence."

"An outside influence." He did not have far to look to find the cause. On the scanner, the rebels' small shuttle was moving rapidly away from the _Liberator_ on coordinates three three eight. "Orac, intercept their signal and block it."

"There is no signal to block," said Orac. "The problem is now embedded in the system."

"Then analyse it and find a solution."

"I cannot. To do so would invite my own destruction. That runs counter to my programming. I suggest you find your own solution."

"Blake!" yelled Vila.

"What?" he snapped.

"Long-range detectors are registering six pursuit ships in close formation." Vila's voice fell at the end. "It looks like... well, there's a cruiser following them. Blake, what are we going to do?"

It was a fair question. With the ship unresponsive and Avon incapacitated, getting out of this mess was going to be a challenge, and one they had to meet if any of them were going to see this day out alive. Still, that they had Avon at all was something the rebels had not been anticipating. And if anyone could get Zen working again...

"Cally," Blake said into the communicator, "we need Avon up here now. Can he make it?"

It was Avon who responded. "I'm here. What's wrong? Why aren't we moving?"

Blake caught the slight edge in his voice. "Zen is not responding, and Orac is refusing to help."

"The pursuit ships!" said Vila. "Tell him about the pursuit ships."

"Pursuit ships?" Avon queried.

"At the limit of detector range."

"We're on our way," came Cally's voice from the communicator.

"As quick as you can," said Blake.

"Until then, we're dead in the water," said Jenna, sitting back from the controls.

"Or just dead," said Vila miserably. "I knew this was going to be a bad day."

"It's not over yet. Damn!" he said, venting his annoyance by bringing his fist down hard on the back of the forward seating. It hurt more than it should, but not as much as the knowledge that he had seen this coming and could do nothing about it. "How have they done this?"

"It's not your fault, Blake," said Jenna. "Not entirely anyway."

He caught the note of accusation in her voice. "It was the right thing to do."

"Right thing. _Wrong_ people."

Well, he thought, there's no arguing with that. What had started out as a simple request for assistance had turned into the prospect of them losing the _Liberator_ and their liberty.

"How long until those pursuit ships get here?" he asked Jenna.

"An hour or so. It looks like they're travelling at Time Distort Two."

He glanced over at her. "Why so slow?"

"Perhaps they know there's no hurry."

Blake shook his head at the elegance of the trap into which they had fallen. "All very neat. Pre-arranged, no doubt. As soon as Milo left the _Liberator_, he must have signalled them."

A slight noise from the corridor made him look up. Cally appeared, with Avon leaning on her, the arm of his injured shoulder pressed to his chest. His pallor was not promising, but at least he was up on his feet. For the time being anyway, Blake thought, looking at him as he came unsteadily down the steps and grasped onto the back of the seating with his free hand, shrugging off Cally's support.

"Welcome back," said Jenna.

"Straight into the midst of our usual brand of lunacy," said he.

"Zen still isn't responding," said Blake.

Avon's eyes narrowed. "And so it begins. Have you tried the secondaries?"

"And tried switching to manual. We've done all that. Nothing's working. We're shut out."

Avon swayed slightly, corrected himself and faced Blake. "I warned you this might happen."

"It can't be your brother," Blake responded. "We had Zen check all the systems."

"We'll see. Vila, did you search my brother on arrival?"

Vila glanced from one to the other of them, his mouth working up and down without ever managing to get the words out. "Well, no, I didn't. I thought Milo and his lot..."

"Because they were _entirely_ trustworthy," Avon retorted. "Juhel would have everything he needed on him beneath those robes. All he needed then was an access panel."

"You think he planted some sort of malicious programme into the _Liberator_?" asked Blake.

"I know he did. Orac's reticence to investigate should have told you that. Juhel would have erased any trace of his interference from the system's memory. Zen would not have registered it because it was dormant until activated. When did this problem begin?"

"After the outer hold doors closed," said Jenna.

"Convenient."

"Wait a minute," said Vila, "this isn't your average Federation vessel. How would he know this programme would work on the _Liberator_?"

"Inference," said Avon. "He would know about Orac by now." He smiled knowingly. "Such things always interested him. And if Orac can operate the _Liberator_, then it is logical to assume an operating system is in place which utilises something similar to the tarial cell. He could have made any necessary modifications to the programme while he was here."

"So what is it, this programme of his?" asked Blake.

Avon turned to him. "I don't know."

Blake made no effort to conceal his exasperation.

"That is the truth," said Avon. "There are any number of possibilities. I know what he did in the past. I cannot say what he has developed since then."

"Can you analyse it?"

"Well, of course. Give me several hours and I should be able to tell you what it is. A couple of days and I should be able to remove it from our systems."

"We don't have that luxury. The pursuit ships will be here in under an hour." Blake turned away, deep in thought, running a finger along his bottom lip as he stared at Zen. "You know, we could be approaching this from the wrong direction," he said at last. "Milo wasn't concerned whether you were alive or dead, Avon. He didn't bother to check. His only concern was that you were off this ship or unable to interfere. They are not expecting you to be here."

"Then it's something simple." Avon frowned, as he joined Blake in contemplation of Zen's blinking array of lights. "Look at it. The same pattern repeating over and over."

"Yes, I noticed that too," said Blake.

"A loop, causing Zen to repeat a sequence of commands until a certain condition is reached. I imagine the Federation will supply that condition. Until then, Zen is inaccessible to us."

"Can't you interrupt him?" said Vila. "Give him something else to take his mind off it."

"Or bypass Zen completely," said Blake. "You've done it before."

"It depends which systems the programme has targetted. If it were me, I would concentrate on the primary systems, namely the effective functioning and maintenance of life support. If the programme is mimicking a fault on those systems, then Zen will make investigation and restoration a priority to the exclusion of all else. As soon as one fault is eliminated, the programme mimics another and another, thus the priority command never releases the system to other processes. Bypassing Zen at this point could compromise life support altogether. Any of 24 separate systems could be affected."

"Then start closing them down one by one until you identify which one it is. How long will it take?"

Avon glanced at Jenna. "How long have we got?"

"Fifty minutes at the most."

"Closing down each individual system requires a minimum of six minutes."

"Not nearly enough," said Blake with frustration.

"I doubt it would make a difference in any case," Avon replied. "I have not allowed for the unexpected element."

"What is that?" asked Cally.

"You. All of you," said Avon, turning to address them. "Without access to your files, Juhel would have assumed a basic knowledge, then added an extra layer in case any of you had a background in programming. Which means, potentially, deactivating two or more systems at the same time to break the loop. Even allowing for a minimum of two, that gives us 276 possible combinations."

The silence hung. It took Jenna to break it.

"What if you turned everything off?" she said.

"There are quicker ways to die," said Avon, giving her a sideways look, "but none surer."

"Eh, what's this?" said Vila. "Have I missed something? Turn what off?" The realisation came upon him slowly. "You don't mean the whole ship?"

"That's exactly what Jenna means," said Blake. "Will it work?"

"Yes," said Avon. "But that is not the problem. Shutting down every system includes life support. Oxygen, heat, gravity – all those little conveniences we take for granted."

Blake shrugged. "Temporarily. When Zen comes back, those systems will be restored."

"Undoubtedly. There is the question of the time factor."

"The start-up process in some of the older ships can take up to five hours," said Jenna. "Warships are usually left with basic systems running exactly for that reason."

"Orac," said Avon, "what is the outside temperature?"

"1.5 kelvins," the computer returned.

"And the heat loss ratio of the _Liberator_?"

"I calculate," said Orac, "that, without internal heating, the ship will reach a temperature incompatible with human requirements in 28 minutes."

"Assuming the _Liberator_ has not completed its start-up processes by then," said Blake.

"Why should it?" retorted Avon. "This is a little more complicated than your average book screen."

Blake rounded on him. "I don't know! I'm trying to find some way of this mess that..." He let the thought lie. It did not need saying. Instead, he vented his irritation with a long sigh. "This is an alien vessel. The process might be different, faster even." A distant memory tugged at him. "The sister ship to the _Liberator_, Orac, before it came after us, was it on standby?"

"That ship was undergoing maintenance work at the time. All systems were on standby."

"Which tells us nothing," said Avon. "I have another suggestion. If I were not here, what would you do?"

"Evacuation," said Jenna without hesitation. "The range of the life capsules should be enough to make it to Saunsum. It's the nearest planet."

"Except there's six pursuit ships standing between us and getting there," said Vila. "We'll never make it!"

"Shut everything down," said Cally decisively. She had been silent until now, listening with an expression of deepening concern on her face.

"Cally, you don't understand," said Blake. "If the ship doesn't restart in time—"

"Then we could die, I know," she said. "Is that any different to what could happen if we leave the ship? Or wait for the Federation to come aboard?"

"She's right," said Jenna with a heavy sigh. "I say, do it. What have we got to lose?"

"It's madness," Avon insisted.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" said Blake. He held Avon's gaze until he was forced to concede defeat. "Then let's do it. Vila, help Avon. Jenna, Cally, secure Orac and anything else that could cause damage when the artificial gravity generators shut down. Then get yourself to the life capsules."

"We aren't leaving," said Cally.

"I know," he said, resting his hand on her shoulder in reassuring manner. "You'll be safer in there when the systems restart."

"_If_ they restart," said Avon bitterly.

"Where are you going?" asked Jenna.

He paused at the top of the stairs and turned back to them. There it was again, the same doubt and low expectations as before, written on every face. Except Avon. Even allowing for how ill he looked, there was something else there, something in the tight lines around his eyes that spoke of irritation and long-nursed frustrations, not entirely connected, Blake supposed, with what he asked him to do.

"I'm going to set an explosive device on the airlock and in several other places," he told them. "If the Federation attempt to board the ship, that's the way they'll come, the same way we did. I'm not going to let them have the _Liberator_. A fleet of ships like this will end the resistance movement forever. I'll set the charges to automatic, so if we aren't around to activate them, the ship will still be destroyed."

"There's a cheery thought," said Vila miserably to Avon as Blake headed off. "We're dead, aren't we, one way or another? We just don't know it yet."

_One problem solved, and then there's this! Can they get out of this one? Find out in Chapter Ten!_


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

"That one," Avon was saying. "Then the auxiliary cable to the automatics. And then that one."

Too fast for Vila to follow, he hesitated, staring at the mass of wires in front of him. This one or that one? Which was the main power cable again?

He grabbed the nearest and pressed the laser probe against it, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Vila, concentrate!" said Avon, pointing with his free hand to an innocuous-looking wire. "I said the auxiliary cable."

"All right," Vila muttered. "They all look the same to me."

"Cut that one and you won't live to know the difference."

Vila's hands were shaking as he severed the wire. A series of lights went dead on the main control panel and he breathed again. Helping Avon would not have been his first choice. Give him a lock and he would have known who designed it, when it was made and the quickest way to deactivate it. Computers, well, that was Avon's field. What he knew about computers he could have written on one hand. If he had a hand left by the end of the day, that was. Too much time spent poking around inside the _Liberator's_ internal workings, and at best he might only lose a finger or two.

"I don't know why this has to be so difficult," he complained. "Why isn't there a big switch labelled 'Off'? It's a design fault, if you ask me."

"Because no one in their right mind would disable a ship outside of a space port," said Avon. "Our here, without defences, we are vulnerable. Gravitational fields, asteroids, solar flares – take your pick."

"I'm glad you told me that," Vila said. "As if I wasn't worried already!"

"Those are the least of your concerns. There, bypass that circuit."

Vila did what he was told. A shiver ran down his spine and made the hairs stand up on his arms. "It's getting cold in here, you know," he said.

"That's your imagination," said Avon. "The system is not shut down yet."

"I knew I should have brought a thermal suit. I've never been very good in the cold."

He was expecting the usual retort. Something about him not being very good in the warm either. When he had no response, he glanced over his shoulder. Avon's head had slumped onto his chest and his eyes were closed. Vila reached across and shook him by his good shoulder. Avon awoke with a start.

"You fell asleep," said Vila, peering at him with concern. He looked unnaturally pale and there was a sheen of sweat on his face. Being shot would do that to you, Vila decided. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Do you see anyone else volunteering?" Avon pushed himself up and leaned back against the metal wall of the console for support. "Don't let me fall asleep again, Vila. Where were we?"

"We bypassed the circuit."

"Good. Now close the circuit."

"Close it?" Vila said. "We just opened it."

Avon gave him a weary look. "Do it." His eyelids had started to drift down again. When Vila nudged him, his head suddenly jerked up and he opened his eyes wide. "To your left is the central capacitor. No, don't touch it. The secondary is the one you want. Once we disable that, we're almost there."

"And then the lights go out?"

"That's the theory."

"You mean you don't know?" Vila grinned as he continued to work. "There's an admission I never thought I'd hear." He pulled on a connector and the wire came free. Another bank of lights went dead. Looking to Avon for approval, he noticed his eyes starting to glaze over. Keeping him talking suddenly seemed very important. "Mind you," he said, "I'm not saying you don't surprise me some times. Like earlier, down in the hold, when they asked what was wrong with you, how did you know what I had told them?"

"You always say radiation sickness, Vila. You're..." He paused and chose his word with care. "Predictable."

"So are you, according to Orac. He says it's how your brother discovered your access code for the life capsules."

"Did he? Well, he would know it."

"Shouldn't you change it?"

Avon gave a slow shake of his head. "He isn't coming back."

Vila stared at him for a minute, trying to decide whether he meant the _Liberator_ in particular or in the boarder sense. "I've finished," he said at last. "What now?"

"Attach the circuit integrator. That should prevent the fail-safes from cutting in. Where I can reach it, Vila!" he said with irritation. "I'll need to deactivate it to get the ship back online."

"Done," said Vila, sitting back to inspect his work. "Not a bad job, if I do say so myself."

"Now go and find something to hold onto. The last place you want to be is on the ceiling."

Vila looked around for somewhere suitable. A space beneath a projecting wall unit seemed to be the best place. Squeezing in, flat on his back, he tried to tell himself he was secure and that everything was going to be all right. Only when he caught Avon looking him did he start to wonder.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Just try not to fall on me when the gravity comes back on," Avon said.

Vila watched as he delved his hand into the circuitry. One by one, the remaining lights were dimmed. Finally, the overhead lights went out. The drone of the main drives, a constant that Vila had long got used to and ignored, faded. All was silent and dark. Sounds he had never noticed suddenly became deafening – the roar of air passing down his nose, a slight high-pitched whine in his ear and the thud of his heartbeat, growing faster by the minute. An eerie feeling started to take hold, as his back left the floor and his nose bumped against the underside of the shelf. Something tickled his forehead, as his hair took on a life of its own and began to drift. Somewhere in the darkness, he caught the gentle susurration of Avon's breathing and hoped he was still conscious.

"It's very dark," he said. "Can't we have some light?"

"Did you bring a torch?" Avon replied.

"No."

"Then we will have to sit in the dark."

"How much longer?"

"A minute should be enough. With the loop broken, all systems should be reset. We should avoid repeating whatever action caused the loop to initiate in the first place."

Vila swallowed hard. Was it his imagination or was the air already getting thin? It was certainly getting colder. He could feel it biting through his clothes. Only a minute, he told himself. And then Zen would come back and the heat and the light and the air would be back to normal. All the same, it was the longest minute of his life, which seemed to go on and on, and stretched beyond what he thought a minute should have been.

"Avon?" he called. "Is it time yet?"

No answer.

"Avon!" he said, louder this time, more insistent.

He strained to hear his breathing. Shallow and barely audible, he sounded like he was unconscious again. Panic started to gnaw at Vila's insides. Twenty-eight minutes for them to freeze to death, Orac had said. A heavy cruiser and six pursuit ships on the way, and Avon had chosen this moment to pass out. Well, he would have to wake him up, Vila thought to himself. What button to press or what wire needed connecting was beyond him. Getting to Avon, though, that was the problem.

Vila reached behind his head to the edge of the shelf and started to pull himself out of the gap. He moved easily, perhaps too much. One of his legs had its own idea about where it wanted to go and he had to concentrate to keep his limbs pointing in the same direction. Gripping onto the edge of the unit, he inched his way along, gripping tightly to stop himself floating away. By the time he bumped into a solid but softer obstacle, the sweat was soaking through his clothes despite the falling temperature.

Clinging on to the edge of open hatch in the console, with his one hand he groped around and came across a nose and lips, cold and clammy beneath his fingers.

"Avon!" Vila yelled. "Wake up! Come on, I can't do this on my own!"

He tried slapping Avon's cheek. The end result was a gentle pat thanks to the lack of gravity, despite putting all his strength behind it. Not enough to get a reaction, Vila thought, something stronger was needed. With his grip starting to fail on the slippery metal of the hatch, he scrabbled around in his pocket and his fingers closed around the slim cylinder of the laser probe. In the darkness, the tip glowed red, even at the lowest setting.

He relinquished his hold on the door and hooked his fingers in the front of Avon's clothing. Working down his body, he came across the cabling Avon had used to prevent himself from floating away and further down found his leg.

"Sorry, Avon," Vila said. "This is going to hurt."

He drove the probe into the fleshy part of the thigh. It worked. Avon gasped and shuddered.

"What the hell?" he hissed.

"You passed out," Vila said. "You told me to wake you up if you went to sleep."

Avon was fully awake now. Vila caught the rapid rise and fall of his chest, as he sucked in the air between his teeth.

"It's been over a minute," he urged. "More like five."

"Then let's see if the _Liberator_ wants to co-operate."

Vila kept a hold on the cabling and tried not to get in Avon's way. He could feel him moving and hear the slight rustling of his clothing. He only hoped Avon knew what he was doing without having to see it. One crossed wire, and they would never be cold again. There again, he had opened a fair few locks in the pitch black before now by touch alone. He was trusting the same applied to the _Liberator_.

His worry subsided when he felt Avon sit back. "What now?" he asked.

"We wait."

As time slipped by, anxiety finally got the better of him. "Nothing's happening!"

He heard a low, breathy laugh. "Vila, look behind you."

Manoeuvring himself around, he saw a white light blinking through the darkness, a single star of hope in the abyss. In his relief, he forgot to hold on and he felt himself starting to rise. Struggling desperately to find another handhold, fingers suddenly fastened on his collar and held him fast. He hung, suspended, as all around lights began to flash, offering a little illumination to their surroundings. The Liberator was coming back to life.

The gravity was the first to be restored. It happened so quickly, Vila did not have time to react. One minute he was floating, the next he was falling, straight down onto Avon's lap.

"I did say _not_ to fall on me," Avon muttered.

Vila managed to disentangle himself just as the lights came back on. A warm hum filled the air and a growing throb from deep within the ship vibrated through the floor and rose up his legs. The main drives were powering up.

"Go and help Blake," Avon urged.

Vila studied him with concern. Loss of blood had taken its toil and he looked ready to pass out again. "You sure?"

Avon nodded with difficulty. "Leave me. Get the ship moving. Go, Vila!"

Vila was up on his feet and running as soon as the door of the sub-control room would allow. Along the corridor, with the lights coming on just ahead of him to guide him on his way, and onwards, he did not stop until he saw the bright glow from the flight deck. Travelling at speed, he missed the top step and skidded down the rest, somehow finding himself still on his feet at the bottom. Everything was as he had left it, Jenna at the controls, Cally adjusting the detectors and Blake with one hand on Orac, looking up as Vila made his dramatic entrance.

"Everything all right down there?" Blake asked.

Vila nodded hurriedly.

"And Avon?"

"Not looking good. I stabbed him in the leg with a laser probe."

"You did what?" said Blake.

"I had to!" Vila protested. "He kept falling asleep."

"Cally, go and check on him. Vila, take over on the detectors."

Cally stepped down and let Vila take her place.

"Have we got Zen back?" Vila asked, staring at the blank wall of the main viewscreen.

"Not yet," said Blake. "Jenna, any response from the main drives?"

She gave a curt shake of her head. "We're getting there, though. It's faster than I expected."

"Not fast enough. Orac," said Blake. "Can you speed things up?"

"Fascinating," chirruped the computer. "I would ask you not to disturb me whilst the start-up process is underway."

"So long as you're not interfering and slowing Zen down."

"Interfering?!" Orac sounded annoyed. "The system requires nothing more than observation. It is perfectly capable of completing the process without any external intervention."

"And how long," said Blake, "from what you have observed, will it take?"

"Any prediction at this point would be superfluous," said Orac.

"Try telling that to the Federation if we're boarded."

Orac gave the electronic equivalent of a sniff of disinterest. "I have a value to the Federation. One hundred million credits to be exact. My own survival is guaranteed."

"Not if those charges on the hatches go off," said Vila. "You'll be like the rest of us, floating around in bits and pieces."

"Very well," said Orac impatiently. "The System appear to have eliminated those extraneous programmes that typically slow down the process of start-up in Federation ships. It is probable that the Liberator will be at full power in a matter of minutes."

"There's something to be said for 'conceptually alien' vessels, after all," said Jenna with a knowing smile.

"Where are those pursuit ships?" Blake asked.

Vila gazed at the screens before him and made a helpless gesture. "The detectors are still out. No, wait, they're back!" He made a few quick adjustments to the controls. "Ten minutes out and closing. It looks like they've locked in on the shuttle's position."

The internal communicator chimed. "Blake, this is Cally."

"How's Avon?"

"He'll survive," she replied. "He said to tell you he has disabled the auto-repair circuits. It might give us a little more time."

"We'll need it," said Blake. "The pursuit ships are coming in fast."

"Blake," said Vila. "You should see this."

Vila shifted to let Blake see what was on his screens. The single light indicating the position of Milo's shuttle was being surrounded by the Federation ships. Vila watched as the final ship moved into position. The shuttle indicator flashed one last time before it was extinguished. Milo and the others had paid for the deal they made with the Federation with their lives.

"Destroyed," said Blake heavily. "Now they'll come for us. Jenna?"

"Standard by One and building."

"Right, let's get moving."

"Blake," Vila said urgently. "Pursuit ships have regrouped and heading straight for us!"

"Information," said Zen suddenly. The screen came alive with the usual restless array of lights. "Status is firm. All systems are functioning normally."

"About time too," said Vila. "Pursuit ships have increased their speed. Five minutes now to intercept."

"Jenna?" said Blake.

"Standard by Four and building."

"Come on, come on!" Vila was almost jolted out of his seat when Blake struck the back of his chair with his hand. "We'd better activate the force wall. I'm assuming we have got a force wall?"

"If you don't mind diverting power from the main drives," Jenna replied.

"Then we'll wait for as long as possible," said Blake. "If we can't defend ourselves, we'll give priority to running. Vila, give me a visual on the main screen. Let's see where they are."

The screen filled with the readout from the detectors. The Liberator was positioned at the very centre with a cluster of smaller ships gathered to the extreme left.

"Standard by six," said Jenna. "We're gaining on them."

"Plasma bolt launched," said Zen.

"Activating the force wall," said Blake, running over to the console. Just in time, as the ship rocked under the impact. "Deactivating."

"Second bolt launched and running," said Zen.

"You spoke too soon," said Vila miserably.

"Still gaining," said Jenna. "Don't worry, Vila. We're losing them."

"Them and everything else," Vila muttered, rubbing his stomach. "I've never been so grateful to have both feet on the floor."

Jenna grinned at him. "You do realise there's nothing beneath that floor?"

He pulled a face. "Don't tell me that. I was starting to feel better." He left his station and went over to Blake. "Is that it, then? Is it all over?"

"No, Vila." Blake sat back with a sigh. "That will depend on what else Avon's brother has done to the _Liberator_."

_Phew! That was close. Onwards to the Epilogue!_


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Word of Mallory's demise took several days to filter through the unofficial channels. Murdered by the Federation when a prisoner exchange had gone wrong was the popular rumour. The version from his supporters was more forthright. His own people had died trying to rescue him when the _Liberator_ with their supposed allies had turned and fled. A martyr to his leader's cause, Milo had become a legend, after all.

Blake had let it pass. The truth no longer mattered. The resistance movement Mallory had led successfully in the Fifth Sector for years was crushed in a matter of hours. The Federation had what they wanted. Their motives had been obvious from the start. Milo, however, with his bile and hatred, had been harder to understand.

The news had not all been bad. The _Liberator_ appeared to be functioning normally again and whatever else Blake had been expecting as a result of Juhel Aphon's interference in the ship's systems failed to materialise. As soon as his treatment for his injuries was complete, Avon had set himself the task of extracting the programme his brother had installed. Until it was eliminated, the hold doors were out of bounds, lest the loop be reactivated.

Returning to the flight deck after another fitful night, Blake found Avon still at work in much the same place where he had left him the previous evening.

"How is it going?" he asked.

Avon did not look up. "Done. It's there."

He briefly indicated a data cube sitting his console. Blake picked it up and examined it. There was nothing to be seen, of course. Just the act of holding something so destructive seemed to rob it a little of its power.

"You're keeping it?" he asked. "This almost destroyed us."

Avon raised his eyes, but did not meet Blake's gaze. "It is a complex and sophisticated piece of programming code. It is capable of disguise and adaptation. No wonder Orac refused to co-operate. We might be able to use it in the future."

"I'm sure we will," said Blake thoughtfully. "If we have a future."

"Why? What are you planning now?"

Blake smiled in spite of himself. "I was thinking more of your brother."

"Juhel is on Sebasturon. As I said all along, the blood in the corridor was not his."

"Mammalian in origin, but not human, Cally says," Blake confirmed.

"Either way, he will not be troubling us again."

Blake chose not to answer. His continued silence made Avon finally look at him.

"I was thinking about what he might have done already."

"All systems are clear," said Avon. "But if you mean, did he take copies of the _Liberator's_ schematics while he was here, then yes, I'm sure he did. The temptation would have been irresistible. It's what I would have done. I would then turn it over to the Federation for a price."

Blake was watching him closely. "You do realise what they could do with that information?"

"Create a battle-fleet to destroy the resistance now and in the future. That had occurred to me." Avon looked away. "For that reason, I placed certain information in the Central Computers. Messages between us, where we conspire to defraud the Federation by giving them plans of the _Liberator_ containing fatal design and programming flaws. The evidence is compelling. They will believe Juhel has betrayed them."

"And they will discard the information he has given them about the _Liberator_. Very clever, Avon."

Blake considered what it must have taken for him to implicate his brother. Not much, considering their past history.

"It had to be done," said Avon with apparent disinterest.

"Yes," said Blake. "It works for us too."

He left his side and made his way over to the forward seating. As he settled himself down, Vila wandered in, a glass in his hand.

"But I still don't understand what Milo was getting out of it," he mused, rubbing his finger to his lips.

"He despised you," said Avon. "Isn't that enough?"

"Possibly."

"Don't flatter yourself."

Blake allowed himself a short laugh. "I'm not. But it occurs to me that Milo thought he would be getting the _Liberator_. Leaving you dead or incapacitated was enough, he said."

"So Avon couldn't stop what his brother had done," said Vila, joining him on the couch.

"He was deluded," said Avon.

"But not a fool," said Blake. "He knew what damage the Federation could do with the _Liberator_. Nor was he eager to carry out his threat to destroy his shuttle and us with it. No, he wanted the ship intact. Perhaps he allowed himself to be convinced that it was us the Federation wanted. In return, he would get the _Liberator_ and control over the Fifth Sector."

Vila stared at him. "You mean Milo led us into a trap just to get—"

"'A ship like this'?" Blake finished for him. "Yes, I think that's exactly what he did. Well, he made no attempt to disguise his envy. He said it often enough. To his credit, I don't believe he would have gone along with the plan if he thought he was giving the Federation a weapon to use against him."

"As I said, deluded," Avon remarked. "They were using him all along. And in case anything went wrong, my brother was the back-up plan. They would get the _Liberator_, regardless."

"With minimal effort. Once the programme was initiated, we were stranded and Milo was an easy target."

"Meat on the hoof," Vila said idly. He glanced up from sipping his drink. "Oh, it's something Gan said once, how, back in the days of the Old Calendar before protein started being reconstituted, on less advanced planets they would walk the animals to the processing plants instead of doing it at the outlying settlements. Made for a fresher product." He quailed slightly under the weight of their combined gaze. "If you see what I mean."

"Unfortunately I do," said Blake. "Milo couldn't fly the _Liberator_ to the rendezvous point himself, so he had us do it."

Vila shrugged. "You did ask what stopped him from demanding the ship when he took Avon."

"All very neat."

"And in that spirit, Orac, send the last of my messages," said Avon. "Standard encryption."

Blake got up and joined him by the computer, out of Vila's earshot. "What was that?"

"My final message to Juhel. Telling him his safety has been compromised. It will be intercepted and the investigation will be initiated. It is over. He will be too arrogant to run. Life imprisonment on a penal colony waits him, I suspect." A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Such a life will not please my brother any more than it would have pleased me."

Blake let the thought lie before responding. "Despite all that, you still call him Juhel."

"That is his name."

"But he calls you..."

"Avon. Yes, to make a point. And I reciprocate, for the same reason." He removed Orac's key and set it aside. "Shall we agree that bringing strangers on board the _Liberator_ is ill-advised?"

"In principle," said Blake carefully. A blanket ban was both unthinkable and unworkable. If Avon thought he was going to meekly agree because of one bad experience, he was mistaken. "We will need to assess each situation on merit."

"In other words," Avon retorted, a challenge in his voice, "you have learned nothing."

"I've learned to be wary of your relations."

"You've met the worse of them."

"And the best," Blake replied.

Avon gave him a searching look, but did not press further. "Something else, Blake," said he, turning to go. "Don't ever shoot me again. I might take it personally next time."

"Not very grateful, is he?" Vila said, watching as he vanished down the corridor. "We did save him from Milo's mob."

"I wouldn't tell him that too often," said Blake with smile. "He won't thank you, Vila. Now, what was this planet you were talking about yesterday? Del Ten? Zen, get a course laid in, Standard by Six."

"It's about time we had a change of scenery," said Vila, jumping up with rare enthusiasm. "I've had enough of brothers and rebel leaders to last me a lifetime!"

**The End**


End file.
